Each morning he thinks, “Maybe just one more hit,”
As he shuffles to class, the time slips away.
“Is it Tuesday or Thursday? I’m not sure, I admit.”
His lectures, though lively, don’t seem to quite fit,
As he freestyles Newton in a hazy ballet.
Each morning he thinks, “Maybe just one more hit.”
With equations like poetry, his mind starts to split,
He mixes up science with math and his play.
“Is it Tuesday or Thursday? I’m not sure, I admit.”
His students are giggling; they just can’t commit,
To knowing if he’s teaching or lost in a sway.
Each morning he thinks, “Maybe just one more hit.”
“Let’s ponder the universe—where do we fit?”
He points to a plant, “That’s a great place to stay.”
“Is it Tuesday or Thursday? I’m not sure, I admit.”
With laughter as background, the lesson’s a hit,
As he sways with the rhythm of his own funky way.
Each morning he thinks, “Maybe just one more hit,”
“Is it Tuesday or Thursday? I’m not sure, I admit.”
Hazy Humor is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
