A quiet darkened, quite still, no enquiries, headmaster’s study. Suffocating oak panels, smothering in soft shiny beeswax. Yellow painted plaster mock Tudor roses dripping from the ceiling. Tiger skin blending into faded blood red thread-bare carpet. Diamond-paned, nicotine stained glass windows. A mighty pigskin covered desk, with ornate, ivory, antique inkstand. Behind the desk a man . . The head. . master. Dustless eyelids open And revealed in the reflection Of his large pupils . . a small pupil Requiring summary correction. Bulging eyes regard the boy With measured mock astonishment, Then a raising of eyebrows and grinding of teeth Heralds the coming admonishment. Pursed lips open alligator slow, as a deep red tongue flicks around its dark wet home. Words fall croaking out. . bump off the huge desk, bang round the walls, Climb up mullioned windows . . but miss the young miscreant’s ears. It’s then that the fly appears . . No knocks or appointments, just straight through the window. Its black shiny body makes straight for the dead smell of the headmaster, Where it wildly buzzes around his head, like a playful miniature vulture. A precise, thin, white, chalk steeped swat misses the circling insect, As it farts and darts away . . To a speck of dust where it sheds a million germs that run amock, And copulate unnoticed on the headmaster’s desk top. It climbs and dives, it climbs and dives, it climbs and dives, it climbs 0and dives, It loops the loop, it drops a mid-air shit without a care, As the ancient man drones on and on, it screeches through the air, As the ancient man drones on and on, it screeches through the air, As the ancient man drones on and on, it screeches through the air, As the ancient man drones on and on, it screeches through the air . . . . . . . .