Monday morning blues
Today I was reminded of those Monday Morning Blues
Those tall iron gates; Dr Martin shoes
The nauseating smell of soggy mash, morning breaks
the tuck shop dash
School mates remarks, full of anger and hate:
Stealing your erasers, rucksack-making you late
On the sports field, running for your life; tall ones’
Speed past you, a quick dig, sharp as a knife
Trying your best to keep up with the rest:
Looking down at your bosom, still wearing a vest
The stench of musty carpet on lecture theatre floor,
Bullies mocking ‘Robert Clegg’ him saying ‘no more!’
Wooden desk tops, scratched out with ‘I love Luke’
In blue biro pen: Wishing you were still five, hiding in a den
Today I was reminded of those Monday morning blues
Those tall iron gates; Dr Martin shoes.
By Belinda Johnston
Steve Regan
Mon 2nd Mar 2009 10:29
Hi Belinda,
I think school is a rich vein for poets. The school is such a weird institution, when you think about it... taking children away from home, placing them with other children (in all their casual cruelty), dressing them in strange uniforms (at least in the British tradition)... I think Larkin got the emphasis wrong: mam and dad don't f*** kids up half as much as institutional schooling does.