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.