A Poem by S B Borgersen

WERE YOU ONCE AN ART TEACHER? REALLY?If they can hold a pencil they can draw, she saidthey must have certificates, she said.The job is yours, said the pink-cheeked,French headmistresselegantlyfrom her bedon the balconylooking downthrough scrolled wrought iron railingsto her tiny school in Curepipe.So teach them art,she said.*Your students were offspring of sugar baronsthey knew for certain what their futures heldcollege or no college they would still have jobs:

family sugar fields always...

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