Looking For A Tutor – Carol Elva Greenwell

What was it he said he would teach me?

Iconic tachometers? Ionic barometers?

Ironic pedometers? Ah! Now I remember!


He said that he would not teach me

Anything at all. And searching

among his archives, Leafing through his files,

he produced – with a flourish (flourishes are his forte)

– one of his more interesting lists


Then, waving it in my face, he asked if I would

indicate to him where I could see my name

amongst those of all the girls he had registered.

Had I any evidence of his acceptance?

Evidence? (one of his favourite words)


Reading through, I could find no proof at all,

not even my initials noted, or faintly jotted,

down in one of his narrow, foolskap margins,

so how could I expect to be included?

Slapping the paper triumphantly, he declared

that it was proof (another of his favourite words)

In-dis-put-able proof that I was definitely

not in their class

Image via Pixabay

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