The clock sweeps with obvious reticence,
Three o’clock it’s to impale,
But the action seems to be slowing,
Like an impossible economy of scale.
Seconds seem to be infinitely elastic,
Like a crippled snail in warm tar,
What seemed to be so tantalizingly close,
Seems to be unattainably far.
Then, without warning the digits align,
The school bell announces the week-end,
Howls of delight echo of every surface,
Heralding of future joy to spend.
Don’t get me wrong about attitudes,
This place is not a zoo,
It’s just they prefer not to be at school,
And the students think this way too.
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