Don’t Believe It

Now those who know me know the story’s wrong.

I mean I was a dull and stodgy kind

of teacher, dull and boring even, one

who never told a joke in class; a mean,

ferocious martinet who cracked the whip

and never let his kids have any fun

in thirty years of teaching.  Thirty years

my students never heard me tell a joke.

So don’t believe it. Know it isn’t true

if someone, if a former student, say,

attempts to tell you that I taught a class

while wearing a bright blue metallic wig.

That wasn’t me.  That wasn’t me at all.

Remember dull and boring.  Strict and stern.

And if somebody tells you that they saw

me, they were there and saw the paper clip

I’d used to hold my tie in place, you know

it isn’t true, you know it can’t be true.

I wouldn’t be caught dead at Open House

while wearing a green tie I’d made myself

from a left over piece of felt or that

I had attached it with a paper clip.

It wasn’t me.  I swear it wasn’t me.

It had to be some other martinet.

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