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?