"Sorry... My alarm clock didn't go off"

"Sorry... My alarm clock didn't go off"

White spit drips from the right corner of my mouth
As internal winds roar a magnificent storm, truly
unstoppable. Winds for Twister's future sequels.
Legs churning with such speed that
regrettably saw yesterday; tomorrow.

I Finally hear teacher's nasal voice
always patient but now mouse-squeaky.
Her frozen stare speaks of our oft-broke pact.
She asks. Time freezes. high with fear, I mouth
that weak lie. The "Oldest Reply In The Book".


Note: A pretty awful poem probably, but I enjoyed thinking about how, even now, I come in late and have used a variety of excuses (both legitimate and not) to escape the glare of some annoyed teacher whose lesson I've disturbed.

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