Invisible

It's English class
and the teacher's screaming.
I hate loud voices.
It reminds me too much of
cccccmy home
if I can even call it that.

She - the teacher -
doesn't like our class
because we don't take poetry seriously
ccccc- poetry is what we're learning
cccccabout this term -
except I do.
She just doesn't realise it.

She gives up screaming,
tells us to write a poem
before the end of class.
Everyone who doesn't
gets detention.

Students scramble for their pens and paper
(besides the people who don't care
about detention)
because there's only ten minutes
left of class.

Not nearly enough time to write a poem
cccccfor me anyway.
cccccI like to take my time.

So I scribble down
a poem
I wrote a few nights ago
that I know off by heart.