Here I sit in room 211,
Assigned a seat next to Kevin.
Nabbed for a crime I didn’t commit,
At computer 22 I am condemned to sit.
Paying my debt to the society of this class,
For that fateful day one week past.
The events of that day are etched indelibly on my mind,
Even now recalling them sends a cold shiver
down my spine.
Instead of typing, Kevin played a computer game;
Wasting english class time-- oh what a shame.
I warned him that Kuhn’s wrath he would incur.
But he said, "I’m having fun. I’m not worried
about her."
I warned him again that she was on her way back.
He replied, "I’m tough-- I’ll withstand her
attack."
A moment later, he was squirming in the Vulcan neck
pinch:
Maybe handling Kuhns wouldn’t be such a cinch.
Kevin futily attempted to invent an excuse that would
pass
As she preached the evils of game-playing in class.
Then for a moment she paused, as if she had nothing
more to say,
But the grand finale was still on its way.
To keep his cool, Kevin tried his best,
Even as Kuhns thrust a wad of crumpled papers into
his chest.
"I believe these are yours," she said with a sneer.
The battle was coming to an end, and the winner was
clear.
Realizing that he was destined to lose the bout,
Kevin’s nervous smile faded into a pout.
His spirit was broken and his pride taken away,
He was truly left without a shred of dignitay.
Still, Kuhns delivered her knockout blow ruthlessly:
"From now on, Kevin, you’ll sit up front at computer
23."
I couldn’t help but let out a hearty "he, he, he,
whooo."
Until she turned and snapped, "you’ll sit at computer
22."
Finally, she turned and walked away,
Leaving behind her wounded prey.
Kevin rubbed his neck and began to whine.
I told him not to worry-- a little therapy and
he’d be fine.
But so terrible was the wrath Kevin came to know,
That it would have caused rioting if I’d caught it
on video:
The nation is still in shock over the startling
images of typist Kevin Smith
being beaten and pulled from his computer.
Hey...hey, come back with my epic poem you looter!