A Teacher Late

Anxious,I wait,
Ready to face my surely upcoming doom,
And you're running late,
Letting me sit here and wallow in panic,
Stalling my breath for these lungs so delirious,
Of the scratching noise and penetrating coughs so manic,
Do you not take this ever so serious?
Does my welfare and life that hangs upon this moment really mean so little?
Does it just bother and nag you like a mosquito?
Am I just to be an unfinished, discarded piece of wood to whittle?
Will I never get to to have my big magneto, living as a devoid incognito?
Just because I and my fluttering companions are nothing but the groceries to your day?
Are we not the sulfarious which provide you with the means of life?
Would it be to much for you to show up with your hollow eyes and monotone words to say?
It would be the least of you to show up and harbor our laboring strife,
Really, all you have to do is hand us our paper and send on on our way,
Leaving us to fill out the blanks and contour and stretch our mind,
Worry and shadows to bombay,
Leaving peace and the world which we live behind,
But, alas!
Finally, you have come, with movement disturbingly lethargic,
And your hands caress our paperweight life as your footsteps synchronize with my heart and it’s class,
And I sit with a back like a ruler like a soldier awaiting for his sergeant,
I watch as the methodic paper drifts down in front of me,
My heart leaping inside my throat with such terror I cannot even summon a crooked, meaningly ‘thank you’,
And as I look at the unwanted gift the words seem to mingle and growl like a raging see,
Frantically, I scan the room, scanning for anyone we can throw overboard to make things anew,
But it’s no good, for each is to his own and there is nothing I can do or be,
And with this bearing thought I look down and wince at the first inquiry I am to face,
For my mind is dashing away in terror and my heart running so wild I am foolish to hope I shall ever get it back,
And though they very well know it’s wrong my eyes begin to scan and pace,
Looking for the answer, but none accord, and so I am forced to erase,
Over and over, I start again, but what I seek will not come,
Haunting me, taunting me,
What is my name?!