Mr G stops me on the bridge. <br />Well better him than any other teacher. <br />He comments on the day, the hour and on my work. <br />There is compassion in his big handsome face. <br />He wonders, and fearful but excited I see it coming. <br />He wonders why my work is not what he believes it might be. <br />I feel dizzy at the thought of all this talk in the open air. <br /> <br />He wonders, and I look away. <br />He wonders, and here it comes - the shame. <br />If things are, you know, all right at home? <br />And there it is - I look away. <br /> <br />I see, he says and moves his hand towards my shoulder <br />but glancing around he takes it back. <br />And will he now tell me what must be done, <br />what could or should or will be done? <br /> <br />While bikes and busses pass <br />I think of broken crockery and blood. <br />He moves his hand then takes it back <br />and this time puts it in his pocket. <br /> <br />Quietly he says – This will pass <br />believe me, this will pass <br />and one day, be a memory. <br />Then adult-wise he shakes my hand. <br />. <br /> <br />I watched him go then looked around <br />absolved, exonerated, free. <br />And he, in memory possessed <br />Impassability, Agility and Brightness.<br /><br />Sean Joyce<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/one-forever-blessed-teacher/
