Classroom Fever

There is a face to the sea

The face is changing every second I turn

To cast a yellow line across the white and black

There is a mouth to the sea

The mouth munches and roars

And I can feel the yawn approaching

There is not a tune to the sea

For their fiddle is too short and stumpy

And leaves a brittle mess in it's wake

There is sometimes a glimmer to the sea

Defying generational mode of gratification

If only the face

And the glimmer

and the mouth

and the tune

Were before me

Instead of layed out ahead

With the captain

Divisive in his authority

Yawning at his post

Opting for the white

Instead of my feverish yellow