Not so deep
inside his psyche
exists the
frightened little man;
defences up
he walls him in;
ego inflated.
Square, angular
'Chiselled from some
metamorphic rock'
(he muses)
jaw juts forward;
he gives emphasis
to every uttered word,
each morsel offered
as a tasty crumb
of wisdom
to be shared
vainglorious.
His students wait,
impatient
as he pauses yet again,
sits,
adopts his Rodin pose,
his thinking stance,
scratches
at his salt and pepper head,
dandruff flakes extracted,
he rolls twixt thumb and finger,
creates tiny oily balls,
flicks into waiting pocket
lest they contain
some random thought,
some stroke of genius
leached out,
secreted accidentally.
Class done,
'Young minds broadened'
(he muses)
he wanders
head bowed, shoulders slouched
as if carrying the burden
of his intellect
(self-perceived),
hands firmly clasped
behind waiting back,
through corridor and cloister.
The young ones,
see through his affect,
his pseudo-intellect
and titter ignominiously.
He flinches,
hurt
and not so deep inside
his psyche
exists the
frightened little man,
defences down,
wall tumbled,
wall tumbled,
ego deflated.
Anna :o]
(Please note that the above is not an attack on the teaching profession only memories of one particular tutor!)
(Please note that the above is not an attack on the teaching profession only memories of one particular tutor!)
Thanks to the good folk at Open Link Night ~ Week 33 (hosted and posted by Hedgewitch) at dVerse Poets Pub.