These poems are from junior year in high school, exercises written and typed under the duress of a punishment by Mrs. Schuster for dissing Shakespeare. I noticed that all of them are born from an irritation--how teenage of me. I remember working like a sled dog for a week, and after four lines each, was mentally exhausted. I am not sure what I learned in writing the poems, but I no longer challenged the teacher.
Why I Skipped English Class Yesterday
I didn’t skip as much as flee
and spent time at Long Lake struck
by April’s warmth, wild as Harry,
dark as Hamlet, happy as Puck.
Yes, I Have a Backbone
It takes a bone to make a muscle
stand up, a bone to walk, explore,
a knuckled hand to be facile,
backbone to show you out the door.
Just not the Right Answer
No, I do not have common sense,
as my look’s blank, I can’t explain,
but father, the thicket was dense
and the fawn, the mud, so much rain.
© 2017 Jeff Burt