A little more poetry
By Harry Lewis
The school bell’s ring, on other days
Would bring delight to Carole Hayes
But today she’s feeling green
It means a trip to room thirteen.
Why ever did she play that trick
On Mrs Scott, she feels quite sick
At eighteen plus she’s never been
To pay a call to room thirteen.
She doesn’t know what fate’s in store
Behind that heavy old oak door
Girls at this place are never keen
On talking about room thirteen.
They say maybe she’ll get a whacking
She’s never had a bottom smacking
Perhaps they won’t be quite so mean
It’s her first trip to room thirteen.
Now up the stairs, she’s nearly there
She sees that there’s another pair
Two younger kids complete the scene
Waiting outside that room thirteen.
Susan Hill, seventeen today, she has never been before
At sixteen, podgy Mary Hughes is staring glumly at the floor
Because she knows what it can mean
To have to visit room thirteen.
At four p.m. the moment comes
They enter, heartbeats loud as drums
They stop and stare, it’s Mr Dean
In charge today, in room thirteen.
Good looking, not too tall but strong,
But surely something must be wrong
A man, to deal with girls of teen
Age years in dreaded room thirteen.
He checks the list, noting the way
In which these three young girls must pay
For crimes, some minor, some obscene
They’ll meet the price in room thirteen.
First you, Sue Hill, must pay the price
For being, well, not very nice,
To teachers who are very keen.
Across Sir’s knee, in room thirteen.
Fearfully she bends as told
Her skirt drawn back, she feels the cold
Draught blow across her knickers, green
And her first time in room thirteen.
Down comes his hand, with might and main
Young Sue has never known such pain
She vows she’ll not again be seen
Behind the door of room thirteen.
It’s over now, for young Miss Hill
She’s in the corner, crying still.
Now Mary Hughes bends down how mean,
A slippering in room thirteen.
Her pants pulled up, to bare her skin
Not even their protection thin
Is offered her, because she’s been
Before, to visit room thirteen.
The first whack lands and makes its mark
Quite pink at first, but turning dark
She’ll try her hardest not to scream
There’s five to come in room thirteen.
Her bum’s on fire, it burns it stings
Why does she do these naughty things?
Next time, her games kit will be clean
And she’ll escape from room thirteen
Ordeal over, hands on head
In the corner, bottom red
“Now Carole’s turn,” says Mr Dean,
“The cane, my girl,” in room thirteen.
“But Sir,” she cries. “I’m feeling sick
Don’t beat me with that swishy stick.”
He’s angry now, he’ll vent his spleen
On scaredy-cats, in room thirteen.
“You think you’re sick, I’ll make you sicker,
Before we start, take down your knickers,
Which I can see are none too clean,
Two extra strokes,” in room thirteen.
“It was to have been ten full cuts
Now it’s a dozen, grizzle-guts,
Now touch your toes, my cane is keen
To do its work in room thirteen.”
That searing stroke, the first one ever
Cuts right through her regions, nether.
Eleven more, she’s in between
Her death and hell, in room thirteen.
Her eyes mist up, they’re full of tears
Never before in all her years
Had she known what pain can mean.
She’s learning fast in room thirteen.
She’s losing count, her mind’s in shreds
Can she pick up the tattered threads
Of life which once was so serene
After her time in room thirteen?
What did he say? Her torment’s through
She took it well, could this be true,
Her teacher, handsome, says she’s been
A brave young lass in room thirteen.
The dreadful pain is now an ache
But something deep inside’s awake
She’s learnt a lesson they didn’t mean
When she was sent to room thirteen.
That night in bed she feels the welts
And then she’s feeling something else
Her juices flow, is this a dream
And was there ever room thirteen?
