Poem: Ymn of Ate, or Ballade of concentrated venom

An ‘Ymn of ‘Ate or Ballade of concentrated venom

May you who have no shred of taste
Be placed among the super-critical
May all your conversation waste
On those who only talk aesthetics
May you be forced to teach Chinese
On t’other side of the Atlantic
To Yankees who speak Sinhalese
Or Redskins who will drive your frantic

May you inherit pots of jam
With empty bottles to enrich it
May you be heard to murmur ‘Damn!’
By Tilly or Archdeacon Twitchett*
May Johny catch you singing flat
Or imitating his best antic
And may you sit on your new hat
And spoil it, which will drive you frantic

In netball may you never thrive
Your tennis racket strings go slack
And may you wish you weren’t alive
When you get bunkered in school prac
May Joyce when she puts out the light
Detect from your room noise gigantic
May you be haunted in the night
By clanking chains that drive you frantic

Envoi

Princess, I hope your tadpoles die
In circumstances unromantic
And cursed be all the eggs you fry
Oh, anything, to drive you frantic!

*Cyril Frederick Twitchett was Archdeacon of Liverpool from 1934 to 1950. He preached to the congregation in the roofless church of St. Athanasius, Kirkdale after a Luftwaffe attack in 1942.

Could Barbara Smith have annoyed Lorna again, or is this 'poem' about another naughty pupil from the period that Lorna was a school mistress (1936-1939)?