If

If I were an English teacher
I’d wear a suit and shave
And teach about
Great books and shout
When children misbehaved.

I’d speak of Faulkner
Ever fonder
Of great Hemingway
And Twain.

I’d give long lectures
On plays by Shakespeare
And tell them
Please don’t read in rain.

From my desk
I’d hand out papers
On the books they had just read.

I’d have to conceal
That I use MY books
As pillows for my head.

If I were a lunch lady
I’d wear hairnets with a flair.
I’d serve up slop and who-knows-what
With utmost grace and care.

I’d say “Hey Trevor. How’s the weather?
Try the meatloaf. It’s divine.”
“Well hello Mindy. Oh…it’s Cindy?
Forgive me. Here’s some pie.”

I’d smile and nod to every child
In line to get their grub.
I’d not let on that this here spoon
Is used to flatten bugs.

If I were a lunch lady
I’d look around the room
And spy a dirty boy named Philip
Eating in the gloom.

No one would go near him.
His stinks have stinks which stink.
I’d grab him by the squiffy neck
And wash him in the sink.

He’d return triumphant to his seat
And all the girls would swoon.
They’d say “Why Philip, you’re so clean!”
Please walk me home from school?”

If I were a lunch lady
I’d wait for every child
To finish their slop and who-knows-what
Then I’d rest awhile.

I would start to scheme and think
Of what to make them eat.
Maybe broccoli malts to drink
And blueberry fries, whole wheat.

I wouldn’t forget to add a side
Of healthy chocolate bisque.
Bad nutrition is something I
As lunch lady just would not risk.

If I were a lunch lady
And all was said and done
And everyone had gone away
And my me-time had begun.

I’d throw a mat upon the floor
And sit and stretch my toeses
I’d swing my great big limbs around
And perform great yoga poses.