Jock
Strap
Jock Strap sits in
staffrooms, his cell phone set on mirror,
loving
looking. Voice shot like arrows, his throat’s a quiver,
shouting
boys who are making much of classroom clatter,
long lost
dressing room hollers of: ‘listen, mates’; flatters
but
deceived, they ignore him now. Do precisely as they will,
pick up
phones, putting down books, if his looks would kill.
Jock Strap reasons
another dog day’s needed on the sick, soon,
manuring heaps
of unmarking will make his soft cock swoon,
where’s that tarpaulin? Best it's left hidden in the classroom,
closed eyes,
let’s fly, clicking his heels three times and home.
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