School, 4om the Point of View of a Desk

School, 4om the Point of View of a Desk

I was manufactured in China, shipped from there to there, my 29 brethren bouncing next to my on the long flight to America. Now here I am, in the land of the free, as chained and locked up as can be. In this inhumane torture chamber, where people write all over me. They sit in my seat and scribble on my face; can’t they see I don’t want tattoos? As a show of complaint I squeak and creak, sometimes I buck them off. But back they come, just to ruin my fun, and remind me this is a prison with windows named school.

The End

08-12-08