#100sciencepoems 26: Mr Taylor

Mr Taylor made things explode.

He knew it would get our attention if,

In assembly, he pulled on his goggles

And (suspiciously singed) lab coat

And titted about with some magnesium.

He did it every year:

The firstyears would crane forward, hoping

For a glimpse of a brief spark, a muted pop

While everyone else was shuffling back

On the shiny wooden floor, trying to get

Out of the blast zone.

I must admit, it worked.

We all looked forward to Science days.

The faint but ever present possibility

That something would catch fire

Was like a drug to us,

*

The most likely inflammable

Was Mr Taylor’s magnificent beard.

Bright auburn, halfway down his chest

Like curls of copper wire.

We marvelled at the fact it went unscathed

Always splendid: a russet profusion…

But then one day,

I saw Mr Taylor on the telly

Talking about primroses on some science programme.

Turns out, he was a horticulturist at heart;

The flashes and bangs were just for us.

Mr Taylor preferred to grow things.