I wrote this poem for my Creative Writing class in high school. It is about my fourth grade teacher who would read to us every Friday afternoon and give us lollipops. She was a very good teacher and helped me a lot with math. I think her and other special teachers in my life is why I want to become an elementary school teacher. She read to us The Tale of Despereaux by Kate Dicamillo. This was my favorite book as a kid (which really wasn’t too long ago or so it seems) which is a fantastic story about a mouse and a princess. I am pretty sure it was turned into a movie which from what I hear was not that good. I highly recommend reading this book to any kids you have in your family.
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The Teacher’s Friday Afternoon Treat
My mouth watering around a lollipop,
I gaze up to my teacher’s soft eyes behind glossy glasses.
Her smooth voice molds itself to give
each character a slightly different inflection.
I still become awed when the reader can leave
behind themselves without making their influence completely lost.
Whenever stopped, she trances her fingers over the page to regain the place lost.
My tongue begins examining the chocolate tootsie center of the lollipop.
My mouth tingles from the sticky residue it begins to leave.
Creeping closer, I can clearly make out my dim reflection in her glasses.
I twist and chew the gooey center causing the fibrous stick to have an inflection.
I savor every morsel of this Friday afternoon treat she would always give.
Every word, sentence, and paragraph open to give
me a doorway into a world in which I can get lost.
As the plot and character unfold, I feel an inflection
of my senses overwhelm me so that I forget completely about the lollipop.
I watch as the king adjusts his glasses
to see a little mouse scurrying to leave.
In desperation, I watch as the mouse is forced to leave
and go to the dungeon with the red thread, which will not give
way, around his thin neck. He must say goodbye to stained glasses
in the castle and submerge into the pitch-black maze in which he will surely get lost.
Having completed devouring it, I now chew mindlessly on the stem of the lollipop.
My teacher has created a severe mood with her dramatic inflection.
Being the end of the chapter, she loses her voice inflection
and tells us it is time to leave.
I discard the white stick of the lollipop.
It gave every bit of flavor it could give.
I yawn and feel all the energy I lost.
My teacher, rubbing her eyes, removes her glasses.
I observe the bright string attached to her glasses.
She, too, yawns with a sharp inflection.
Looking outside, I see the tree has lost
most of its dry brown leaves.
I smack my lips to give
the juices in my mouth a stir to taste a hint of lollipop.
It was much more than a mere lollipop
which she would give.
She built in me a passion for the written word which would never leave.