Classic Poem

‘I think the new teacher's a queer,’

I turned around
and saw that
they were talking about me,

one false move
and it would all be over,
I could not drop my wrists
or raise my voice.

so I stood there up against the board
arms folded
pressed against my chest
and looked without seeing
or hearing until
the children became a noiseless pattern
and all those years
from when I sat among them
stopped dead and I feared
that they'd beat me up

in the boys' room.