30 NOVEMBER 1991, Page 45

No Lesson

A class, the class, and in the know we wait, Absurdly still, behaving, eyes ahead Because we know and picture what we know: the pail above the door. The found dead Curled in the top drawer. The chalky arrow Prodding abuse at him who, soon and late, Will mutter in to blame, inform and show. We stifle. Feelings heat, evaporate But nothing can be done and nothing said: None would not regret, and I think none hate The soaked, insulted and discouraged Head We still envisage. That's surprising, though, For there'll be hell to pay, or time instead. But no one moves a pencil till we go, Abandoned out to play, in a bad state.

Glyn Maxwell