The Paper Heart (Deleted Stories)

Her pen pours forth a stem

that grows into an ‘m’;

no, not an ‘m’ , two arcs

that join and make one mark.

 

Meanwhile her teacher talks

about the  ‘joys’ of Maths;

drawing an arc of chalk;

plotting some pointless graph.

 

She can’t hear what she says;

can’t follow her at all.

Her spirit’s far away

beyond the classroom walls.

 

She’s dreaming of a boy;

of being by his side.

She knows it would be joy

to be his blushing bride.

 

She’s dreaming of a kiss

that’s golden, warm and bright

then, like her hand and his,

two sloping lines unite.

 

A ruler swats her jotter;

*crack* 

and hand, from hand, is torn

her grim faced teacher spotting

the heart her dreams have drawn.

 

“I am not teaching art!”,

shrieks the evil old shrew;

then, tearing out the heart,

she rips it right in two.

 

She hears the old crone drone;

her face is turning fuschia;

saying she’ll be no-one

foretelling her bleak future.

 

But she is wrong to think

hearts, like paper and ink,

can easily be torn.

Some hearts won’t be suborned.

 

The witch can go to hell,

for soon she’ll hear that bell;

they’ll  all rush out and then

she’ll see that boy again.

 

She knows her future’s bright.

It’s her teachers who’re dim.

She knows she’ll be alright

as long as she’s with him.

 

The bell rings and they run;

rushing out into sun

then she bursts with delight;

sees his face; holds him tight.