Mr G stops me on the bridge.
Well better him than any other teacher.
He comments on the day, the hour and on my work.
There is compassion in his big handsome face.
He wonders, and fearful but excited I see it coming.
He wonders why my work is not what he believes it might be.
I feel dizzy at the thought of all this talk in the open air.

He wonders, and I look away.
He wonders, and here it comes - the shame.
If things are, you know, all right at home?
And there it is - I look away.

I see, he says and moves his hand towards my shoulder
but glancing around he takes it back.
And will he now tell me what must be done,
what could or should or will be done?

While bikes and busses pass
I think of broken crockery and blood.
He moves his hand then takes it back
and this time puts it in his pocket.

Quietly he says – This will pass
believe me, this will pass
and one day, be a memory.
Then adult-wise he shakes my hand.
.

I watched him go then looked around
absolved, exonerated, free.
And he, in memory possessed
Impassability, Agility and Brightness.

Sean Joyce

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/one-forever-blessed-teacher/