First Period

May 5, 2008
By Brook Tao, Edison, NJ

It is Monday, first period.
Everyone is sleepy.
In a class we all dislike.
All longing to get out.
We all stare at the clock,
it has captured our attention like fish in a net.

The clock ticks slowly,
the seconds are an eternity.
I sit in the room, a prison, with no escape.
The teacher drones on, like a cloud of angry bees.
The sun shines, spreading its fingers,
beckoning me to come outside.

The teacher does not stop; an endless stream of words.
I look at the clock again, longing for the end,
two minutes have gone by,
The teacher’s voice turns into a low hum.
I block it out, I look out into space.

Other kids fall asleep,
heads on their desks.
Some draw, some stare, eyes blank.
None can survive the boredom.
All are victim to the power of the teacher.

Yet the teacher does not see,
she continues on,
teaching her lesson.
She doesn’t care,
and we don’t mind.

I look at the clock again,
one more minute has passed.
Will this hour ever end?

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