What If?
What if, next year,
My teacher doesn’t walk past my desk
But stops, looks down and smiles?
And my work,
Confined to the cage of my jotter, flies free and
Rests on the wall?
What if, I raise,
My hand when asked and send deliberate ripples of laughter,
crashing like waves from the lips of my class?
What if, the bell,
Rings out for play and I run outside, feel the sun
Melt my worries, and I splash rainbows in the puddles?
My teacher doesn’t walk past my desk
But stops, looks down and smiles?
And my work,
Confined to the cage of my jotter, flies free and
Rests on the wall?
What if, I raise,
My hand when asked and send deliberate ripples of laughter,
crashing like waves from the lips of my class?
What if, the bell,
Rings out for play and I run outside, feel the sun
Melt my worries, and I splash rainbows in the puddles?
This poem is copyright (©) Patrick Fisher 2026
About the Writer
Patrick Fisher
Patrick is a part time poet and full time primary school teacher, reading aloud for pleasure at every opportunity. Living and working in Glasgow, his poems have previously been published in newleaf; a poetry journal published by the University of Bremen.
