Freshman English

They write because they have to.

I force them, pulling words from their minds

Like an obstetrician using tongs on a breech birth.

I beg, I plead, I yearn,

I cry, I scream, I bribe, I taunt.

They stare vacuously back at me,

Wondering why the tears slide down my face.

They do not comprehend the strength of the words we use;

The impact of a finely turned phrase.

They cannot feel the poetic passion

Of catching the reader unaware.

They cannot know the power of discovering a new way

Of saying what you've experienced.

They cannot, do not, will not, have not

Felt the sheer joy of finding just the right descriptor,

The right verb,

The right hue or shade of meaning

And committing it to paper.

And so...

I cut and hack,

Slice and slash,

Smash, mash, crash

And hammer their work,

Praying I can knock some sense into it for them.

I am the plastic surgeon,

Nipping and tucking,

Trimming and stretching,

Crafting, sculpting, blending

Their word conglomerations into something

Literate, concise, meaningful!

My red pen drips its bloody message,

Enticing them to rethink their method,

Their style, their purpose.

Carets, deles, stets,

Commas, semi-colons, modifiers,

I dance across the page making suggestions,

Requests, pleas, demands.

And when day is done,

I flip the switch,

Sinking the classroom into darkness,

And turn my back on the trash can

Full to the brim with my days work,

Unread, disrespected, useless.

This is poem created of the frustration sometimes felt in teaching writing to students who are often indifferent or fail to see the value of writing. I would like to stress that it is done in a tongue-in-cheek style. I adore my students and love my work as a high school teacher! This poem was originally published in the Michigan Reading Journal, winter 2008.