A National Poetry Day Play Poem: 'Call Of Duty: Playtime'

As a teacher and poet, I love National Poetry Day; this year's theme is Play.

I wrote 'Call Of Duty: Playtime' a while back but never knew what to do with it. So when I learned that #Play was this year's National Poetry Day theme, I was overjoyed. I knew I had a National Poetry Day PLAY poem ready to be rescued from my hundreds of poems that languish, lost in my messy file structure.

This poem is inspired by real-life situations I've experienced over my teaching career of 30 years. As a very young teacher, I remember a woman coming for a trial as a lunchtime supervisor. She valiantly tied to initiate a sweet skipping game. But unbeknown to her, she was swooped on by children who let's say, were some of the most spirited children in the school.

Within no time, her best laid plans had gone awry and she ended up being tied up and tangled in skipping ropes. I saw the situation and in my newly-found, best teacher voice asked, "What is going on?"

Of course, the children, eyes full of mischief, told me, "We were just playing Mr Bird."

The candidate decided lunchtime supervision wasn't for her.

So anyway, here it is - my National Poetry Day PLAY poem, finally let out to play.

I hope you enjoy it.

Call Of Duty: Playtime (A National Poetry Day PLAY poem)

Just three marching minutes ‘til playtime begins

My heart’s racing, I’m pacing, my head’s in a spin

Then I hear their feet trooping, I peek through the door

where battalions of navy-grey armies stride forth

Then my ally Miss Gadfly bursts in… Mr King!!!

I can’t do it! she’s wailing, her arm in a sling

A big bruise on her cheek and a purply black eye

Look what happened last week and today I might die!

It’s your duty Miss Gadfly: The Head, She Needs YOU

for your bruises are medals of honour and truth

and your sling is a status (I know that it’s sore)

Though our battles are lost, we may still win the war

In our helmets of wool and our green, windproof smocks

We advance to the playground, for our weekly ops

Then the bell raids the air with its deafening shrill

And the army of kids, all fall out, without drill

So if I take the MUGA, you cover the rest

I saluted Miss Gadfly and said Do your best

But the moment she turned, I shouted Watch Out!

as a misfired football torpedoes her snout

And then heat-seeking missiles of snot-sweaty palms

all at once seize my hands, with their germs fully-armed

Then I witness Miss Gadfly deserting her hopes

as a draught of Year 1s, with their wet skipping ropes

have surrounded, and bound both her arms to the fence

So I puff out my chest and go on the offence

But a muster of tale-tellers swoop from behind

and report with great fervour, that’s Kai’s been unkind

and had called their friend Grace Mrs Satellite Face

But then Ahmed bombards me, defending Kai’s case

Mr King they are lying, they started it first

they said Kai’s new chihuahua was stinky and cursed

In the distance, I see a wild silhouette shape

It’s Miss Gadfly, she screaming, she’s made her escape

But she’s suddenly ambushed by Gautier Jones

who’s been scratched on his thumb and insists he sees bone

But the siren rings out and it’s peacetime once more

And triumphant platoons all retreat through the door

as Miss Gadfly, she picks herself up from the floor

and she sobs Mr King, I can’t do this no more!

So I’m going to go AWOL before I go barmy

for a much safer life, I am joining the army

Mark Bird

#NationalPoetryDay #NationalPoetryDayPlay #NationalPoetryDayPlayPoem #Play

National Poetry Day PLAY