He seems obvious to the note passing,
To the eyes spying and the paper ***** flying.
He sits at his desk with a meek expression upon his face,
Not quite staring into space, but a place.
I can tell by this clean features and his put-together attire,
That he acquires to be in a position higher with such desire.
That he's dreaming of a place that doesn't require baby-sitting hormonally deranged teenagers,
It's a place where maybe he's a manager or somewhere fighting potential danger,
The bell rings above his head which shakes him back to the present time,
He adjusts his jacket and looks around like he committed a crime, then he smiles goodbye to his students like they were piles of grime.
I creep up to his desk and tell him,
It's not that grim, remember, the glass is full to the brim.