Mmmmh... I have mixed feelings, after reading this.
I haven't done a review in some time, but I think I remember how I usually start these. 
Take with salt; mind the edges.
Kneeling, lays brick atop brick carefully.
What lays bricks? Or who? And "kneeling" and "lays" don't work together here... there are a lot of ways to fix that, but as they are, they just don't make sense. Or, wait, this could work - maybe it's this guy, Kneeling, who lays bricks. But who is Kneeling? What kind of name is that?
Welp. Time for a rant.
It happens to me all the time: there is a vision in my head and, ah, it is so brilliant! - so I write... and hope that at least some of my vision will be captured in the words. Then I read it to myself, and I see that same vision playing back in lockstep with each stanza, each word, but... well, nobody else who reads it seems to see the vision. Usually they get most of it. Sometimes, they even get all of it. But it's not the same. When I finish reading it, my heart is beating, and I cannot help but smile or frown or just somehow react powerfully to what I felt while reading. Then when others finish reading those same words, they just say, "oh, well... it was good."
A lot of the time, that's where grammar comes into play. It bridges the difference between "oh, well... it was good" and heart-racing, mouth-twitching, brilliantly touching words. And I don't just mean correct grammar, but appropriate grammar - grammar that fits the piece, and makes it work.
Which brings me back to where I started.
Kneeling, lays brick atop brick carefully.
Even this early in the poem, I already feel distanced from the vision behind the words. While the "who" that is kneeling, laying bricks, and being bitten by the sun, is not meant to distract the reader - at least, not at first - it immediately distracts me. This is because brains (and my brain in particular) are kinda stupid. They want everything to just magically make sense. They really do. And when something doesn't, they flip out, like a dude who just tried to eat his hotcakes waaaaaay too soon off the skillet.
Of course, just because his hotcakes burnt his mouth does not mean Mr. Dude won't eat them. He just has to stop first. And wait. And try to work out in his head, are they cool enough yet? He prods them, blows on them, licks them gingerly to test their heat... And ultimately, of course, he eats them. And ultimately, of course, I was able to read the rest of your poem. My brain might be stupid, but it's not really stupid. It doesn't just assume that the words will never make sense; it tests them out, and teases with their placement, and sometimes makes up bits to see if the sentence makes more sense that way.
So yeah, ultimately I still worked out the meaning of the verse. And the end result was the same as if the sentence was grammatically perfect. I have a picture in my head, of a person, wearing a sunhat, working a trowel under the beating sun - sweating, perhaps, but somehow I know they're smiling too. And they're beautiful.
But how long did I take to get that picture right in my head?
I don't know, but the moment is lost on me. It's not beyond repair - once I hold that picture in place and really think about it (as I'm doing right now in order to write this), I do certainly find it beautiful. But I did not feel that way when I first figured out the words. No, when I first got over the grammar and put together that picture, it was weird looking - like someone was lazy when they took it, and didn't bother to focus the camera, and left the flash on even though the sun was out.
Then, with time - with exposure, you might say, if you want to keep with the whole "photograph" theme - the picture clears up. It starts becoming real, and it gets intense and colorful, and the beauty of it finally touches me.
Usually, the picture doesn't get that chance. It doesn't get to be stared at for a bit, separate from the words, and really appreciated for its own beauty. (Unless we're talking about a script here, and it's about to be made into a movie. But that's the exception.
)So... I'm back to grammar. Since the picture is formed by the words, and it doesn't get its own time to explain, the words have to be the picture. They can't approximate; they can't leave bits out; and they can't work together poorly. The sentences have to be right. And that's not the same as correct. Correct can certainly help - and usually it does - but it's not always right. (If correctness were the end-all, be-all of poetry, e.e. cummings would never have made it as a poet.)
And this first verse is only the beginning. (No pun intended.) All of the grammar has to be right. And it's just not. Not yet.
--
That said, this is a beautiful metaphor for teaching. Laying bricks, but working more than is required; correcting carefully each little piece until the wall is perfect, and is sure to stand forever, until nobody will see it anymore; until it has done its job beautifully, for the whole of its life.
It's positively inspiring.
Sloppy, and a little tough. But inspiring.
I guess I don't know what else to tell you. You already did the important part really well - you created a new way for me to see teachers, a new image to represent the work they do. You just need to stop appreciating your vision, and focus on the words. In the past, I've spent a lot of time correcting other writers' words... but I guess that doesn't seem appropriate. Just read your piece carefully, and look around - look and see how other authors write, whose works you easily understand, and try to borrow from them. Read other people's reviews, too - of works that are not your own - and see what fixes they tend to suggest.
And, for what it's worth, most of your verses are brilliant. In particular the very last verse. And apart from my confusion concerning "tabs," since that word just doesn't naturally mean anything to me (except maybe browser tabs, which makes no sense), the last two verses together really make the poem.
It may not be what you were expecting (and it certainly wasn't what I expected to write), but hopefully it helps.
~Skorlir
(Oh, and I do realize that this poem could be read with the title as the first two words of the first verse. But that's a bit unclear at first - since the title is not immediately placed in front of the verse, and the verse starts with a capitalized word. And even so, the rest of the poem is still not quite there yet.)
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