“Well, what do you want me to do then?” I ask, nervously, “I haven’t done anything like this before.” He sneers at me. “Just pull your kn...ckers down and bend over that wall.” Reluctantly, I walk across the yard, and stand next to the low red brick and flint wall which surrounds our vegetable garden. It only comes up to waist height on me. He follows me, and is now stood next to me, his hand still rubbing his throbbing penis. I can’t help but look down at it, fascinated to look at my first. Each student would explain why he or she chose a certainpoem, and what it meant. "What is important about poetry," I told the class as it opened that day,"is the meter of the poem, the rhythm. It must not be sing-songy, butrather given a beat, like a song, but most importantly, you must say itas if you understand the words and you want to make the listener feelthem deeply."By sitting in the back, I knew, I'd be spared the challenge of lookingdirectly at Paul and having my mind go all screwy. . More

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