Poetry Reading

The lines he wrote were scratched in ink, some smears
along the margins.  Folded words he penned

to her with loops of L’s and O’s in Bic
he borrowed.  Rhyming words with silly pleas

to never leave him, figures sketched beside
his poem drawn to make her smile.  That note

he wrote in English class when Mr. Hughes
was teaching sonnets, verse and metered feet

while tapping beats, “da, Dum, da, Dum da, Dum.”
He slipped the page across the aisle to Joe

who passed it––Hughes then grabbed the note and read
the poem.  Mouths agape, they stared at both

who blushed and shook while Hughes kept reading all
to twenty kids who did not move or hear

a single word.  The fate of couplets, verse
and trochees lost in fear and horror shared.

The lesson learned, the note returned, the class
then left the room.  His poem shared, he bowed

his head and dropped the note into the trash.
She pulled it out and pressed his fragile words

into her breast.  She hid that note inside
her book.  The poem fresh, she breathed his verse.

© Kim King 2011

Advertisement