My problem with school is
that I can’t go back there
and point out to that teacher
just how wrong she was:

about Columbus,
about how I would turn out
and her pet boy wouldn’t,
and yes Ronald Reagan
would get a mention
as would the electric car,

If only I could be there
when all that certainty
melts in her face,
and the pudding that remains
is one unmitigated expression
of shame and apology.

Back then I contradicted her
but she made me back down
with a tearful “Yes ma’am.”
She was wrong
and today I have the proof.

But school is out for me forever.
That teacher is most likely in her grave. 
Retribution is just noise, regret, within myself.
And “no ma’am”  doesn’t get my attention.