Why On Earth

by Gladys (Burton) Costello

"Why on earth did I choose this job?"
Was a question I sometimes asked;
But only when papers really piled up
And correcting seemed a hopeless task.

A five-hour day others thought we had
But correcting took hours more,
For such duties did not come to an end
When we closed the classroom door.

When my briefcase couldn't handle the load
That I must carry to and fro
The "professional" look I abandoned
And with "Dominion" bags did go.

"The Bag Lady" was a nickname
Put upon me, with a "comradely" grin
By a colleague in our staff room
As he'd see me bringing them in.

But plastic was less weighty
Than leather- whatever the look-
And my burden "seemed" to be lighter
(Though no less time the correcting took!)

When our class size began to increase
And the subjects, of course, to expand,
Bags of plastic had to be doubled
Or things quickly got out of hand.

All other aspects of teaching I cherish;
Only "correcting in bulk" was a chore,
And that lasted only while doing-
Then the "good feeling" surfaced once more.

So why did I really choose teaching?
Well, some may think I wasn't quite sane-
But satisfaction outweighs baser motives,
And I'd choose it all over again!