children froze scared to move,or rushed
to hide from the approaching terror
tried to creep away unnoticed
but she spotted me just as ever

booming voice,got my attention
turned slowly,to meet soul piercing eyes
“Why was I not yet in the classroom?”
“and don’t give me any of your lies!”

stuttering,I made excuses
she shook her grey disapproving head
looked at me as if I had just been stepped in
kind of wished that I was dead

no one dared move a muscle,never
shakily performed each given task
kept everything neat,in the correct place
rather than suffer her mighty wrath

grim and bitter that was miss johnson
army major,should have been her career
instead she chose to torture small children
scream orders down much smaller ears

heaven help you if you’d forgotten homework
fall,and present a bloody knee
forget it, would probably make her quite happy
don’t expect sympathy

on the bus home,there she sat
hands neatly folded,in her boney lap
my eyes overted ,quietly seething
no talking loudly,god forbid laugh

then she was stood,and waiting
to arrive at her bus stop
and in my mind I pictured
booting the old buggar off!

she’s dead now,no I didn’t kill her
she haunts the old school so they say?
the click of her cane is heard often
causing kids to tremble run away!

so she’s still there and moaning
doing what she was always so good at
no one misses miss bloody johnson
or mourns for the passing of the mean old bat.

This poem was written/submitted by lynne hannah cannon.