By Theodore Stephan ’23
As juniors in this English class today,
We read and write to fill the hour of class,
Inside our brains the cells shrink and decay,
I would prefer to catch a largemouth bass.
With rod and reel and tackle in my hand,
I head out to escape the pain of sonnets,
Bugs in the air and leeches in the sand,
Line in the tree and tangled up on it.
No matter the weather, the bugs and sun,
Being out by the water’s edge casting,
Meanwhile in English, the boredom’s begun,
My gripe for sonnets is everlasting.
So I’m sorry Ms. Frye, there is no hope,
I guess you are going to have to cope.