As the kids all slowly pack their bags
We look at watches, impatiently
Knowing wine is chilling in the staff room fridge
And party games can soon begin.
Those kids that think we live here in
The dark and gloomy halls and rooms,
Waiting for their slow return, like life outside
Does not exist for those who choose to teach.
But soon those students dawdle out
And so the merriment begins, with sherry and
A Christmas roast in gastro pubs unfrequented
By the teenage girls and boys who terrorize us
During all our working days, but now
We can be humans, sing and dance and shout
(In jest, rather than through tears of dark frustration).
And over flicking candlelight we talk of kids
Who ruin days and sleepless nights,
And with the wine they melt away like nasty dreams,
Only finding us again when we wake up, mouth dry,
Headache gripped and belly turning in the early light,
Promising ourselves we’ll never go that far again.
That is until on Monday morning when
The bell is ringing and the kids are streaming in.