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[School bell rings. About 14 students rush into the classroom. There's a loud hubbub of chat and noise. As soon as the teacher strides in, the class falls silent. The teacher writes 'Read poem 'My Fingerprint' on page 36' on the board. Class understands. Silence as the students read, heads down. The teacher reclines in his seat at the front of the room, waiting for them to finish. After a while, a few students raise their heads.]

Teacher: So. What's it about?

Boy 1: Fingerprints?

[Teacher rolls his eyes. Girl raises her hand. Teacher nods at her.]

Girl 1: Our lives?

Teacher: Good. [Gets up and walks around his desk to stand in front of them.] What's the poet saying?

Girl 1: That'

Girl 2: Our lives are boring like fingerprints. [Class sniggers. Teacher raises an eyebrow.] We spend our youth here learning about pointless stuff'

[Whole class erupts into agreement and noise. Teacher raises his hand for silence. Boy at back raises his hand tentatively. Teacher points to him.]

Boy 2: Fingerprints are unique and identify people. [Shrugs off-handedly.] My life is individual, and says something about me.

[Teacher nods, now pacing between the rows of desks... Class murmurs. Girl at front raises hand. Teacher nods at her.]

Girl 3: Fingerprints leave mucky marks everywhere. We're mucky?

Girl 4: We can be. Fingers are small, but do a lot. We could do a lot with our lives.

Boy 3: But, fingerprints, connected to criminals. The poet thinks we're criminals.

Girl 5 [at back of the room]: We take things for granted. [Class turns to look at her. Teacher stops pacing.] Freedom'

Girl 1: Rights'

Boy 4: Education'

Boy 5: Food'

[Whole class sighs. Some in agreement, some in exasperation.]

Girl 4: Opportunities'

Boy 6 [frantically scribbling notes]: We should rewrite this poem. Make it clearer.

Teacher: You just have.