Poetry By
Dan Crawford
Published on: 12/2/2010
The Teacher's Reply
Dear Student, I have heard enough! You'd like to think you have it tough, Your lame excuses don't compute, You have no credit to dispute. Your dad's computer is brand new, That van belongs to him, not you, It's in your driveway, still unburned: Not hijacked, stolen, or returned. Your notebook's full of dust and mold, Your paper's crap, if truth be told; You've spent these weeks with lazy friends -- Not "dying" as the school year ends. Dear Student, I have heard enough! You'd like to think you have it tough. Your lame excuses leave me deaf To all your pleas. You have an F.
Published on: 12/2/2010
The Desperate Student to His Teacher
Dear Teacher, give me credit, please! I have not spent these weeks at ease: I have been sick, at Death's dark door, Before you flunk me, wait! There's more . . . My Dad's computer's very old, The printer's full of dust and mold, The hard drive tends to go berserk -- In short, the stupid thing won't work. I left my notebook in my van (and I will bring it if I can); The van was hijacked to Duluth, Then stripped and burned, and that's the truth! I know it's trite to blame my dog, He gulped my paper like a hog. I fed him prunes to get it back -- I've got it in this little sack. And then I got this rare disease, A cancer of the neck and knees: I couldn't walk, my throat was sore, I nearly died; but wait, there's more . . .
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