A Teacher to a Boy with a Centerfold
While you turn red at my approach, gnaw
Your nails and shift your eyes about in fear,
Attempting all the while a saving sneer,
I play the teacher’s role: I set my jaw
And shred those rosy blatancies that claw
Your flesh, for, though emotions interfere,
I know that I must try to be severe,
Upholding for the school the social law.
But then the thought of all that this portends,
Of all the notions normally depraved,
Of all the smaller breasts and average thighs
That you must know before you reach the ends
Of all the cul-de-sacs such art has paved
Annihilates my pedagogic guise.