The Warzone

Students arrive armed with instruments of war:
Rubbers, rulers, pens and paper,
WHSmiths is really a munitions store.
They enter the classroom, an army of malcontent
united in their mission:
force the teacher to relent.

Missiles made of rubbers rain like bullets overhead,
they ricochet around the room -
Teacher sees red.
Still, grubby little fingers fitted with elastic
launch pellets made of paper,
made of blue-tac, made of plastic.

Military paper planes fashioned from worksheets
soar across the ceiling
like an ambush from their seats.
Covert communication, intended for the troops
is intercepted by the teacher
Oh god... she’s read it.... ooops!

Braced for the inevitable explosion, the students lower their heads,
defend themselves from shrill, ear-splitting shouts
and shards of spit sprayed across the room like lead.
As the shellshock renders them unable to hear
they focus on what they see: a bright red face, almost smoking
this carnage is comical – they have no fear.

Later on, like captured soldiers they endure lunch time detention,
it seems they’ve had Special Forces training:
Evade and resist interrogation:
“I didn’t do anything Miss, it wasn’t only me you see”
“It’s so unfair, it’s discrimination”
“You always pick on me!”