Exegesis

(If someone could offer tips on what genre I should stick this in, I would really appreciate it.)

Mrs. Roth hands out the poem,
a masterpiece by Lord Byron,
its words glimmer with forgotten meanings
and promise to impart the wisdom of ages.

But will they listen?
As biology students with gleaming
razored scalpels over frogs,
they slice the work to ribbons.

I tell them one must coax the words out,
like enticing a bud to flower
or taming a skittish horse.
but they have a strainer made of barbed wire.

and through this crude filter they force the words,
like miners panning for gold,
hoping to extract some nugget of truth
that they can use to boost their grades.

and I see the truth: for them, this is not a poem.
No, never a poem. Just words on paper,
pretty rhymes, nothing of substance.

So I watch in agony,
as these children rape knowledge
and roll wisdom in the mud.

Forgive them Father!
They know not what they read.