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Just hand me my walker….

By Patricia Smith

What I wanted: To teach my sweet, suburban high school freshies to write love poetry. I gave them the tools, hoping they would visit the innocent days of romance, find ways to chronicle their fresh, fumbling attempts at love. I thought I might gather their ode and maybe send them in to Art Linkletter or–in case Art was dead or something–Garrison Keillor. Ah, youth.
What they wrote: Stilted and stiff stanzas, basically limericks without wheels. Bulges. Entanglements. Much wetness. You could almost hear Barry White growling in the backdrop.
What a teacher told me: “You know about the girls giving blowjobs in the stairwells?”
What?

2007-03-21


Posted in Group Blog, Poems on Wednesday, March 21st, 2007 by Patricia Smith.

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