Miss Gladstone’s eyes are more severe

Than other teachers teaching here.

They swivel round then settle firm

on pupils who begin to squirm.

 

Like searchlights on a prison tower

Miss Gladstone’s eyes don’t look, they glower.

Not searchlights, no, more laser beams

that burn enough to make you scream.

 

Heads down, the class daren’t catch her eye

for fear that if they do they’ll fry.

But what they do not realise:

the REAL Miss Gladstone, behind those eyes

 

She’d love to be the pupils’ friend

but fearful of where it might end

if she relaxed, herself to be.

It might bring back the past, you see.

 

She was kind and happy, long ago

until fate dealt a cruel blow.

Her lover left her all alone,

so she’s no children of her own.

 

Her fear’s that tears might moist her eye

and if she then began to cry

she’d never stop for days or weeks.

Her future then would seem quite bleak.

 

Her sobs might trickle then cascade

with no-one to come to her aid,

turn stream to river, then sea of tears,

and burst the dam she’s held for years.

 

So spare a thought for Miss Gladstone

back in her flat there all alone.

Next time she stares at you awhile

don’t look away, just give a smile.

 

Julian Jordon, 2006

 

Could you write a poem for primary age children? One that schools might want to use? Details here.