Mr. Ball's Bouncing Curriculum

Our class leapt forth like 

frogs in rain barrels, 

eager to hear his voice— 

peppered with dreams of 

splits, somersaults, and 

endless cartwheels. Laughter 

bounced against cracked walls, 

like rubber balls shot 

from a cannon into the 

dusty sky, where clouds wore 

gym shorts, inhaling the 

sweet fragrance of ambition.

He taught us the art of 

whirlwinds, how to spin 

until gravity begged for 

mercy. "Hey, team," he exclaimed, 

his enthusiasm a cannonball, 

splashing motivation into creaky 

bones. The gym echoed with 

our unchoreographed attempts, 

the air thick like syrup, 

engaging the tortured ghosts 

of former athletes, whispering 

secrets of resilience and joy.

At the end of each 

tumble, he’d regale us with 

tales of the mighty Fat 

Dragon, who once conquered 

the pitch with a booming 

laugh that rattled the universe. 

With sweatbeads glinting like 

stars on his forehead, Mr. 

Ball knew how to kickstart joy, 

defying gravity, teaching us 

to float, splay, and soar— 

puffed up with whimsical 

ideas that bounced like our 

hearts, always in rhythm,  

singing under the fluorescent 

lights of our peculiar arena.