How hard it is to teach
with the hangman’s axe
looming overhead

How hard it is to write
when every stroke of the pen
feels like lash across my back

How hard it is to grade
when every drop of red ink glistens
like my blood on your blade

How hard it is to plan
when I hear you 
plotting my demise in the next room

How hard it is to lead
when I know your assassin
will slip in behind me with a garrote

How hard it is to advise
when I cannot see over
the walls of your trenches

How hard it is breathe
when you have placed
the weight of the world on my chest