When I was a child in school I’d say,
“I’ll never be a teacher in any way!”
I’d say it out loud all around the town,
“Anything else! I’d even be a clown!
What I really want to be is a funny cartoonist,
An astronaut, cowboy, or even a balloonist!”
I knew there were kids like the terrible Spencer,
Who torchified teachers who were sit-on-the-fencers.
He lived on our block in a house made of brick,
But I made the boy laugh with my jokes and my tricks.
He followed me around like a second small brother,
And, “Go play with Michael,” was the word from his mother.
I knew there were girls like the truculent Rachel,
Who argued with Grandma and said things most hateful.
A girl full of bitterness and burdened with want…
Who threatened to die and then come back to haunt.
And Granny told her, “You should go talk to Michael.
He’s a well-behaved youth and may even help you die well.”
I knew what I was in for if I became a teacher…
So, I tried really hard to be a lofty-goal reacher.
But cartoonists and clowns often meet with rejection,
Astronauts and cowboys live with lives of subjection.
So, not wanting to starve or live on the lam,
You can probably guess what I finally am.
Catch a Falling Star 
I only made it as far as grade eight, but I had a couple teachers still I remember fondly to this day.
Ah, I wonder if Spenser remembers me. I was never actually his teacher.