Could somebody please critique this poem?
My first-grade teacher said, "To do your best
in all your classes it would you behoove,
so when from time to time we give a test
you'll always know how quickly you improve;
the subjects you most love you'll dazzle at -
if reading, math or science you have shown
to be your greatest gift - you'll then know that
to be the kind of work you'll do when grown.
For spelling words take out a clean new sheet,"
she told us with her canny eyes a-gleam.
"If all get A's by Friday, but none cheat,
the whole class will be treated to ice cream."
Back then, who'd guess success is competition,
most work mere techno-wage-slave exploitation
at endless hours of desk-bound inanition -
and all gifts fare for greed's mere despoliation?