Our Teacher grumbles, starts to glare,
I try to concentrate, but there –
A Spider swings above her hair,
AND
I gulp. I gasp. My body wriggles,
I itch, I twitch…I’ve got the GIGGLES.
Our Teacher groans, she gazes round,
But no one else has made a sound…
I try to stare at feet. And ground,
YET
My mind explodes in noisy squiggles,
I sweat. I snort. I’ve got the GIGGLES.
Our Teacher growls with rage and pain –
“WHO has let us down AGAIN !”
I try to show I’m not to blame,
BUT
My eyes drip tears, my whole face wiggles,
I shake, I quake, I’ve got the GIGGLES.
It’s like a spell, it’s like a curse,
This grim disease is growing worse.
I squeak, I shriek, I need a nurse…
THEN
Our Teacher hoots with joyful jiggles.
She howls, she yowls –
SHE’S GOT THE GIGGLES.
Clare Bevan
We love receiving your poetry. We print a selection every week – email yours to news@rdg.today
