‘Tis the season for giving. Yes, we have a Scrooge McLameduck wanting to take kids schools away for the holidays. But I found this poem written by a certain Governor. Not really, but it was fun writing it.
Twas the night before Christmas, in the DOE house, not a computer was whirring, not even a mouse. All the teachers were hanging, by the Governor’s chair, in the fears that more charter schools, soon would be there.
The students were testing, all cramped like the dead, while Visions of rigor, danced in their heads. And Murphy in his suit, and Markell on his throne, had just settled down, their faces like stone.
When out on the playground, a student said no. Markell rose from his tonic, and said we have to go. Away to the window, the other students looked, they all jumped out, Murphy’s goose was cooked.
The moon shone on the kids, with six feet of snow. To all the parents, it appeared to be woe. When what to Markell’s eyes soon did appear, but the DOE Horsemen bounded by fear.
With a fashionable driver, and a face like a German, he knew in a moment, it must be Paul Herdman. More rapid than hedge funds, his money it came, and he whistled and shouted, and called them by name.
Now Blowman! now Schwinn! now Ruskowski and Mieczkowski! On, Johnson! On, Watson! On McLaughlin and Duncan! To the school kids must go, get back to class! Get back to testing, before I kick your ass!
As students ran, dollar signs soon appear; and Markell knew, this was his year. His stock portfolio, he saw it grow; all the talk about caring, it was just a show. So to the CEB Building, he made a bet; soon all my plans, they will be met.
Help the rich, screw over the poor; If you don’t like it, there is the door. We have Teach For America, and a grad school called Relay; We get them much cheaper, it’s the start of a new day.
I let them all think, what we do is best; the parents and teachers, and all of the rest. In my dreams, they all go to Hell; I’ve got Duncan, and a seat on Rodel!
The students will score, with utmost proficiency; the public school teachers, they get no leniency. I’ll fire them all, kick them out of the school; I can’t help it, cause I’m such a tool.
To the students in the city, I’ll use discrimination; so what if it appears, like triple segregation. I’ll send them to charters, by the city walls; I won’t get caught, Duncan owns my balls.
My state passed the bill, on political favors; it doesn’t matter, cause I got the waivers. The parents may opt out; but that’s just a cop out. Because of all this, I’ve got the bling; I just cash in, and I say cha-ching.
Schools must take the test, so they can get Smarter; school boards can kiss my ass, I’ll turn them to charters. I’ve got my Secretary, my guy Mark Murphy; it could have been worse, by the name of Michelle Rhee.
Screw all the bloggers, especially Kilroy; I own the schools, they’re my little toy. My president loves me, the name of Obama; Wilmington kids cry, straight to their mama.
I’ve got connections, especially Paul; public schools die, and I’ll watch them fall. I know it seems, that I must be evil; try and stop me, it will be feeble. I’ve got the money; but you have the test; kiss my ring, cause I am the best.
Some say it’s not right, and it’s not fair; you can all go to Hell, cause I rule Delaware. Don’t think this is over, cause I’ve still got more; what can I say, I’m a Common Core whore!
The Season Of Myths 