Empty Vessels

All our heads

And eyes were down

As you approached the far corner

Full of sighs and impatient heels

Fingers tightened on inch-marked wood

The wrong vocation scribbled all over you.

Empty vessels make the most noise.

Tight-lipped and stony-faced

Hands on hips – waiting

For an answer you knew

Would and could not come

The foot of pine descends

On the chosen head

Rapping the rhythm

of your words.

Empty vessels make the most noise.

And then the silence

As we wait and watch

And today’s target cowers.

Tears hovering over a map of Scotland

That makes no sense

Letters that form no words

And still you wait

You, the teacher

The saddest and emptiest vessel

Of us all.