Thursday, April 30, 2009

Poetry Fail 3 (Or Why I hate Free Verse)

Tuesdays Before Class

The desks sit silently on the classroom floor
The students shuffled and rustled uncomfortably
In the quiet
that reigns before the lecture begins.
A cough, a snuffle, the hushed whispering of compared study notes
Information being
Flung around
Like cooked spaghetti noodles in hopes it’ll stick on the wall.

The professor enters, bearing his burden
Of yet-unblemished quiz-papers
The room, hushed before, now drains of
sound like a bathtub, with the cut-off
conversation of those who didn’t notice
providing the final bubble of noise before the end.

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