Blessed be the coachman...
I feel combustible.
Here's a poem I wrote about my first day of class at Ivy Tech.
Faith
It was the first day of night school and the instructor told my class that he hoped we would never cheat, even though he was sure we all had at some point, even admitting that he himself had cheated. Whether it was on a test, an assignment, a survey, or a lover, “all of us,” he assured, “had cheated.” “Unless, “ the instructor added, “you’re all perfect little angels”. An obese woman at the front of the classroom raised her hand and countered, “I’ve never cheated, but I’m no angel”. I was inclined to believe her, but as the woman became silent gorgeous white wings sprouted from her back. The class looked up in awe as she rose toward the ceiling and began raining golden feces down upon us all. “We are stained! We are Stained!”, we all shouted happily. The instructor got up and stood upon his desk with his arms outstretched and said “Class dismissed.”
Here's a poem I wrote about my first day of class at Ivy Tech.
Faith
It was the first day of night school and the instructor told my class that he hoped we would never cheat, even though he was sure we all had at some point, even admitting that he himself had cheated. Whether it was on a test, an assignment, a survey, or a lover, “all of us,” he assured, “had cheated.” “Unless, “ the instructor added, “you’re all perfect little angels”. An obese woman at the front of the classroom raised her hand and countered, “I’ve never cheated, but I’m no angel”. I was inclined to believe her, but as the woman became silent gorgeous white wings sprouted from her back. The class looked up in awe as she rose toward the ceiling and began raining golden feces down upon us all. “We are stained! We are Stained!”, we all shouted happily. The instructor got up and stood upon his desk with his arms outstretched and said “Class dismissed.”