Sonnet CXCIX

A student is a chunk of tofu, pure,
so soft, and ready to be crafted by
a teacher’s words, which live and never die
and always have a studious allure.

And teachers cut and dice and chop, for sure.
Their cuts are permanent and never die,
imprinting messages into the minds
of tofu-children, sliced beyond a cure.

And cooking them in batches in a wok,
the teachers throw their sauces at the kids
and tofu-children easily absorb
the flavours of their teacher’s boring talk.
And one day, thrown in darkness and amidst
a teacher’s test, they’re chewed up, evermore.