Poem on my teacher

Well, after the massive response to the poem I posted before, (insert dripping sarcasm here) I decided I’d give it another shot. This one is called, “Mr. G’s Creative Writing Class.” *yeah, I know I’m weird, you don’t have to tell me. :)

The bombast spouted by Mr. G,
his ridicule and snobbery
of her style, her ways, her speech
(even as the debonair teacher sniffed her heat)
mortified but intrigued the mathematical genius,
the normally complacent, the mousy but brilliant Miss C.
remnant of the person she used to be,
Miss C created a system,
a way to classify the quantum changes
that would be required to please Mr. G.
She measured the risk,
took inventory,
manipulated her internal abacus,
rearranging the digits
until she identified the plastic artifice
that was the true Mr. G.
She changed her curriculum immediately.