When we went up to Year 10,
for, like, the first half of the first lesson,
we thought Sir was OK. Obviously,
he was trying to sound strict
but he seemed quite good,
I mean, make us learn
but also have a bit of a laugh.
Then he just seemed to switch off
like he’d put on his start of term act
and that was it.
You could see everyone thought the same
and were giving it the look.
You knew then Sir had, like, lost it,
bottled it and he was in trouble.
Then it got stupid, really stupid,
he was going on about something
and he, like, made his fat little hands into a fist
to sort of emphasis what he was saying
and shook them up and down
except, like, he didn’t even make a proper fist!
He put his thumbs on the inside
and one of the lads pointed it out
and showed him how to do it
and Jake said ‘Sir, can we have a fight?’
and Sir went red
and we knew then we had him.
So for the rest of the term
no one took no notice of what he said
and we messed him around something rotten
till he went off sick
and never came back
and after that it was all supplies
though it was still his name on the timetable.
The register of this poem is that of a teenage girl telling of the hapless teacher, Mr Johnson. When the Prime Minister has made set-piece broadcasts about the Covid crisis, he tends to emphasise key points by making a curious fist which, to me, only serves to further diminish his credibility. The poem is political satire which experience shows is better communicated at an oblique angle.