'You have to learn to drop
        into mode
        and begin writing straight away,'

I advise,
a fraction exasperated -
just the teensiest, taddiest bit.
They are nervously naughty and titter-shuffle,
wild-giggle, reluctant to sit.
It is their first attempt to write under exam conditions
and they have not developed any serious strategies,
yet.
'You have lost five minutes,' I warn them.
That's got their attention.
Walk round solemn as a church elder
proffering a collection plate,
initialling - having sighted and approved - their plans.
One anxiously conscientious girl
has manifestly exceeded
the one page of hand-written, dot pointed notes
rule.
She is a smooth-cheeked Madonna wordlessly
addressing the angel.
I picture two small, humble hands folded
in acquiescence over heart,
that beautiful doomed forehead, gently swan-bowing.
I squinch my nose at her upturned pleading - oh,
it's only practice. Go ahead.
I haven't the heart to confiscate.
The clown has nothing prepared.
He grins a - She'll be right, miss,
the thumbs up in his naughty eyes,
confidence is smattered, constellation-like
across sun-burned cheeks.
Hmmm.
We shall see, won't we?
Move on, slow-performing the rite, Literature's acolyte.
Peace descending stainedglass-dove-like
as concentration spirals out from squirrelling fingers
and inspired adolescent minds.