Hopeless (an acrostic poem)

Hatred spiked as she looked at the single piece of paper

Ordinarily inanimate objects did not suffer her wrath

Perhaps if it didn’t have those words and symbols on it

Eventually those very words scrambled her brain

Leaving her feeling lost amongst a future sea of red ink

Eyes fluttered skyward, but no divine help was forthcoming

Shifting in her seat gave didn’t give her any new insight

Suffering silently she wondered how bad it would be to ask if they wanted fries with that

A Dickens of a Test (in 100 words)

I watch my students pour their souls onto pieces of dead trees.  Their sunken eyes are wide open trying to make sense of the words dancing and leaping in front of them.  The students hope the blood red ink of my grading pen passes them by and doesn’t reanimate the dead paper pulp into a ghost that haunts their academic careers.  The grades of tests past weigh down the students like the Dickens’ chains of sin Morley had to bear.  What about the ghost of tests’ future?  That grave remains open for now.  The next test is in four weeks.