School Stories

I was told to get to the back of the class,
wearing red socks could have been a kick up the arse;
my art master was not shocked with guys drawing on walls, 
'After all,' he said, 'everyone's seen a prick and two balls.'

In metalwork, I was asked if flux was softer than butter,
when wrong, if only you could hear the words I did utter,
fortunately, my English made me hate the French,
when the woodwork teacher bent down, there was a stench.

In religious instruction, I found my interest had waned,
'When you get to the afterlife boy, you're going to be caned,'
history was just a mystery, unnecessary it seemed to me,
in fact, it would be best if past suspended indefinitely.

In geography, I was asked: 'Are you with us young man,
or are you day-dreaming on a sand dune in Afghanistan?'