The English Teacher
I’m a well-versed academic – some may call me erudite;
My grasp of the tongue (as yet unsung), is ostensibly polite.
In my uniform of Harris Tweed, I’m the model of restraint
But Honey, I’ve got news for you – Mills & Boon, I ain’t!
I’ll meet you, greet you, seat you – I’ll shake your hand – and then;
I’ll check your etymology and mark you out of ten;
And when you take the practical, each dash, slash, hash and stop,
Must cut and thrust with passion – with tenderness, on top.
This pedagogue has dialogue to make your grammar blush;
Metamorphosising metaphors – I’m Song without the Thrush:
I’m words as loud as action – I’m a win without a bet;
I’m a simile the like of which you’ve never, ever met.
Should you ask which poets I would have between my sheets
I’d confide my secret fantasy for tantric sex with Keats;
Should you still insist on living men, for fumbles in the dark,
I’d say Hegley (regularly) and Mr Cooper-Clarke.
And if I were a novel, I’d be quite a tour de force:
There’s nothing I like more than intellectual intercourse.
I’ll have you read me eagerly; I’ll have you quote me clear:
You’ll know that “Wham, bam, thank you Maam”, is onomatopoeia.
So, be my rhyming couplet – propose in prose, not terse;
And together, we’ll live literally – for letter – and for verse.