Mr. Brown Taught History

Mr. Brown had this wild glint,  

eyes like burned-out lanterns,  

but glowing with something fierce,  

history breathing through his veins.  

He’d stop mid-sentence, mid-fact,  

something boiling, spilling over—  

“BRRRATATATAT!” he’d shout,  

hands jerking like electric wires,  

fingers spitting imaginary bullets,  

planes spinning in silent implosions,  

kids gripping their ribs, gasping.

The chalkboard became a battlefield,  

erasers turned to clouds of war,  

spitfires tumbled through his gaze.  

He wasn't just telling wars,  

he was living them,  

a madman on recon patrol.

Crazy, yes, but magnetic,  

dragging us into the trenches,  

cinematic madness in an old blazer.  

History wasn’t dead in that room—  

it was chaos, smoke, laughter.