Report Card Poem

There were a lot of logs there

and the stupid flash floods;

they were really good at seeing who was absent

and who had shown up with their shoes tied correctly.

They did birthday parties exceptionally well

since it never really upset the scholastic schedule,

like a canoe that automatically goes around

new rocks that have come over the surface in drought.

There are no report cards to be had;

you get to sound quarter grades off to your parents orally,

as if that were a baked-in lesson in addition to the rest.

You were actually listed as your own teacher,

and the teacher was listed as your assistant,

which could be confusing for new students.

You could take French, Russian, etc.,

or you could opt to make your own language and country,

but you had to go all the way and do the genocides as well.

You’ve got to be well-rounded in this job market.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.