This man day in day out,
Thirty per class,
six classes,
One hundred and eighty,
undeveloped post pubescent minds,
Christ,
He had to tell us something,
“Women love a bit of poetry lads”,
And we laughed,
But since,
I started writing,
My bed’s never empty,
My hand never unfelt,
And my soul,
Never complete.
©Fionn Kelvin Thomas 2019
