Will
The one whose mouth is always dribbling dirt
In lessons, can’t resist the urge to fling
His limbs about and has to pull his shirt
Away from sweaty sides and rub his thing
(For any unsuspecting girls in
The room), the one who flops his hair about
And picks at pimples on his nose and chin,
And pulls chartreusy buggers from his snout,
Who, in exams, has to pop his knuckles,
Who can’t hear any comment, none at all,
That can’t be twisted, sly, into yuckles
Enough to make your epidermis crawl–
Judged in the talent show by teachers “Best,”
Despite the spots on his unbuttoned chest.