I’d Make As Good a Teacher As Time by Linda M. Crate

They all ask me what I’ll do with my degree

as if English-Literature Bachelor is a title worthy

of shame; they almost cringe when they say it —

when I announce that I want to be a novelist they

smile and say ‘that’s nice’ as if they don’t think

I’m good enough to follow my dreams or they’re

worth following to begin with; I’m constantly

coddled and told that you should be a teacher —

they clearly don’t know that I do not like children;

or that I have a wit that rears it’s ugly head at the

first sign of a snarky retort; no, I’d make as good

a teacher as time, I’d end up maiming if not killing

all the pupils that had the nerve to cross me, I think

I’ll leave the teaching to people that love kids, I’ll

stick to griping and grumbling about how most

of them act as if they walked straight of Digrassi,

and expect us to not want to punish their bratty little

butts in the process, I’m of the opinion that writing

is a better day of spending my day than being two

degrees separated from raging at children under my

care, expecting me to remember them something

of greatness; I’d teach them the art of bitterness or

being lonely or cat lady 101, nothing much worth

noting after that, they’d be asleep before algebra.