NOT A PROPER STUDENT

I wrote this poem following a lesson where I heard the title barked out repeatedly and, in my opinion unjustly, to a pupil. Its effect was merely to embarrass the girl and cause her to take no further part in the lesson.

You say I’m not a proper student -

Not a proper student, you say,

Though I rise with the cockerel at first light of day

Trekking for an hour my hot, dusty way

To arrive here on time – just like you.

I’m not a proper student,  you say -

But wear my uniform with pride

From  the hardest work never hide

Knowing that within me, I’ve always tried

And always clapping you when you ask me to!

So, I’m not a proper student

Though I copy from the chalkboard all day long,

Risk a beating if I get things wrong;

But it’s so hot in here – the sun, so strong

It steals your thoughts  from you.

Not a proper student

Yet absence, I have none

And the homework you set me is always done -

Though outside I could have been having more fun.

Does my commitment mean nothing to you?

Not a proper student

Cause I don’t  answer questions?

Perhaps I’m afraid of your wicked stick

That meets every fault with a whack -

Safer to say nothing to you.

Not a proper student?

With these windows of  distraction

Flies  and  goats  and pupils whose class is  out of action –

Their teacher not in today. What should be my reaction?

Continue with my studies. Could you?

So, to be a proper student

Must I squat on furniture, splintered and broken,

Show some interest but gain only a token

Of recognition, be in no way outspoken

Nor question what’s false and what’s true?

And if I seem to be not a proper student

Perhaps my tiredness is catching up with me

From minding my sisters late into the night,

From doing the chores from first break of light,

From  straining to see with imperfect sight,

Unsure if my future is cloudy or bright,

If  dreams  that I hold could come true.

And if I’m not a proper student,

Then why would I care

That my progress is slow even when you are there,

That my books fall apart from sheer wear and tear?

I want to think for myself but opportunities are rare;

I want more of your time but you have none to spare;

So frustrated I could tear out my hair –

I want to shout out, but I simply don’t dare.

So, like you, I do what I can with what I’ve got

And,  just  like you, I’m still there!

Lea Knowles