poem, part ii

And now, the second part of The Laughter of Staffor Girls' High. The first part, for those of you who missed it, can be found here.

Morning assembly - the world like Quink outside,
the teachers perched in a solemn row on the stage,
the Fifth and Sixth forms clever and tall, Miss Fife
at the school piano, the Head herself, Doctor Bream,
at the stand - was a serious affair. Jerusalem hung
in the air till the last of Miss Fife's big chords
wobbled away. Yesterday, intoned Doctor Bream,
the Lower School behaved in a foolish way, sniggering
for most of the late afternoon. She glared at the girls
through her pince-nez and paused for dramatic effect.
But the First and Second and Third and Fourth Forms
started to laugh, each girl trying to swallow it down
till the sound was like distant thunder, the opening chord

( of a storm... )

poem, part iii

A short snippet, since I've already posted once today. Click here for the start of the poem.

That Monday morning Doctor Bream, at her desk,
didn't yet know that the laughter of Stafford Girls' High
would not go away. But when she stood on the stage,
garbed in her Cambridge cap and gown, and told the school
to quietly stand and contemplate a fresh and serious start
to the week, and closed her eyes - the hush like an air balloon
tethered with roped - a low and vulgar giggle yanked
at the silence. Doctor Bream kept her eyes clenched, hoping
that if she ignored it all would be well. Clumps of laughter
sprouted among the row upon row of girls. Doctor Bream,
determined and blind, started the morning's hymn. I vow
to thee my country . . . A flushed Miss Fife started to play.
All earthly things above . . . The rest of the staff joined in -

( entire and whole and perfect... )

By the way, while I'm thinking about it, how many of you are reading along with me, waiting with baited breath for each installment? I'd better not be talking to myself here...