Substitute
Walk through the door slumping; class is such a drag
Staring at the floor, weighted down by my book bag
When I look up, what do I see? Could it be?
A substitute teacher today, hooray.
I sit down ecstatic, with no longer a care
And then I look over.
The actual teacher is standing right there.
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.