I
used to know an old teacher
Who
spoke no English but Yoruba;
Always
was he in Buba,
Stony
faced like a peeved preacher.
I
could bet he wasn’t rich
With
the sluggish stamp he often wore;
Students’
wages for aberrant attitudes was a sore
And
often left the school Principal with a hitch
He
was as raven black,
Rotund
and spooky;
His
teaching was no better but slack
Like
a lazy, sniffy, ropy rookie
His
name I dare not name;
He
once showed me hell
In
an exam I wasn’t to blame
That
my seat-mate was cheating and couldn’t tell
Well,
it’s now in the past
Graduation
years ago I saw him last
And
want to believe he’s still alive,
If
only his HPB hasn’t taken a dive.
I
used to know an old teacher,
Old and cold but was
no preacher
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