'Leven Forty

by Edwin Carrlington Thompsinson

Whenever Frame’s kids write ‘bout poetry
We paraphrase and we procrastinate
We do it late at night, while watching Glee
But we don’t care, it’s time to graduate

And we always make up last minute BS
And we always print our essays in the core
We start to write when West Ranch TV says
“Good-morning,” – let’s face it, the rest, even I ignore.

But we are smart – yes, smarter than we appear
And committed to school, even if just for the As.
It’s time to have some fun – and by fun I mean “lots of beer”.
Just kidding, Frame, you know we’re all lightweights.

So on we worked, great things we pretended to write,
And analyzed poems we’d barely even read
But at ’leven-forty, late one Wednesday night
Some bonehead kid wrote this nonsense instead.

Sonnet 18 Redux

Shall I script one last poetry essay?
Thou art assigned, though my efforts abate:
Our calendars lack only two ‘til May,
And summer’s dawn hath all too soon a date:
Sometime too close our graduation shines,
And often do the teachers try to fight this;
And every grade from great sometime declines,
By now they ought to know, ‘tis senioritis;
When reading this, thou might scowl unimpressed
And curse my interruptions with a grimace;
Apologies, I learned from Kanye West,
But you’re not Taylor, so I’m-a let you finish:
So long as Ke$ha tiks and Tiger grins,
So long lives us, the class of 2010.