We All Miss Ms. True (poem)

I wrote this before watching the latest episode batch of A Series of Unfortunate Events, but it’s certainly in the same spirit of Prufrock Prepatory School. 

 

 

We All Miss Ms. True

“That was a spectacular
display of scar tissue
you shared with the class,”
said Miss Magunda, our
substitute teacher who
rode in on a storm cloud
and bade Charles Stickman
to stand up and remove his
shirt so we could all see
the tragic mapwork of his life.

Charles Stickman, who was
born unable to produce tears,
swallowed hard and nodded
while the rest of us wondered
why our good and fine teacher
had suddenly disappeared.

The principal, Mr. Night, would
only smile when we asked him,
and we suspected he had interred
Ms. True in the grave that had just
appeared in the courtyard, a grim
patch of land the sun never visited.

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