You pace.
Watching our every move,
The graceful arcs of the confident
Contrasting almost poetically with the
Furious frenzied twitches of the
Eternally ******.

The synchronised swimming of academics,
Marks of ten to the best of our
Talented dancers, recalling each
Jump, step, clap with personal flourish.
The strings are well hidden.

You spurn our dance, fixated by motorised,
Radio synchronised monotony.
"Stop writing, your time is up."