Ode to the Educational System By Marshall Cunningham
You don’t go to a bakery and have the bread be raw. It’s a place to beat it, knead it, leave it, heat it, and all. The final finish is crispy brown, tastes of coming Fall. It’s a process complete, job well done; if only you saw. If only you saw it all. The bakers don’t dare use care, they choose to beat and brawl Those early, young days, because who wants to be there at all? Some cherish the lumpy dough with love, and it shows; the maul Left by baking brutes festers and grows; if only you saw. If only you saw it all. Next up they knead, and knead they do, by only their own call; It’s a yeast mix tainted with rubbled rubbish and tales tall That’s filthy apart but quite fine inside; It’s to install Not lovely rising but unjust falls; if only you saw. If only you saw it all. Now the dough is left all alone among the four cold walls. It’s time to grow! But how can it try when inside is scrawled With pain and lies, confusion and chaos, hardships to recall. It...can’t. It struggles to just hold on; if only you saw. If only you saw it all. Finally, the testing flames rise to endlessly enthrall. So bruised, so confused, so lost in the meaning of it all That the dough bakes in poor utter pain; the burns a black shawl. It’s left to cool, the insides still cold; if only you saw. If only you saw it all. You don’t go to a bakery and have the bread be raw. But if left unchecked, the bakers will hide behind their walls And cook and spread ruined rolls; But, well, you have seen it all. The customer must complain for all the rawness to stall. You have seen it all. Speak now and let new dough rise, not fall.
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