Those Left Behind

Yes!

She Reads, She Writes

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Twenty children sit on a brightly colored floor.  The walls are covered in large black letters, exciting pictures, and words.  “Let’s read this together, class!”  The teacher calls out, pointing to a sentence on a large sheet of paper.

In unison, the voices of all of the first graders ring out, “That cat sat on a rope.”

Except, not all of the second graders can be heard.  I guarantee that there are between five and seven children sitting on that carpet who do not know what is going on.  They see the letters as random, jagged shapes which mysteriously jump and turn.  The letters are a confusing jumble, so these children’s eyes wander around to more stable objects, such as the walls, the teacher’s shoes, and their own fingernails. Sometimes, these kids find themselves in the principal’s office because they “weren’t paying attention.”  They were paying attention.  Just not to the jumping shapes…

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Jello Shots

To Bea, or not to Bea,

Liquor had been my best friend for months- longer then coke indeed.  Ingestion occurred multiple times per moment, during several bouts throughout the day.  The hair was nothing like he’d ever seen.  The luscious locks swirled down her back.  She was hypnotized by the thought of conclusion.  It got her through the longest day the summer had to offer.  Whilst noshing on bagels and other desserts, Jeremy considered the lifestyle his education had allowed for him.  After the media slammed his head into the gutter, belly first, he woke up a drug-fueled foodie in the ghetto with a pregnant chick by his side.  He should have just stayed in the desert, syndromes and all.

Ralph

Germans’ Con Session

‘Twas the night before eve, of Adams first birth
The house lights were bright, filling the hearth
A shiny glow
A tiny snow
A sickle to pop
A grammarians not
Able to read
Whilst driving a steed
A temper untamed
To forsake what’s reclaimed
Now what does it matter
You musn’t drink, ye fatter.

Temporary Dwelling

A shell of such
A means once had
Now has lost itself at mad
Sought and grasped
Grabbed and spilt
Acquired thoughts of fear and guilt
Till the time has gone and run
Passing through as though it should
Several sat whilst in that glaze
The current passage has been days

A Whole Load of Bung

A little hut
A measly shack
A tiny shanty
Spare black hat
Any, all are to be found
In a small place half underground
For one not trying
They might find
The plot of land
Hath fallen down
For if they walk
Wobble, talk
A Chinese man may fest once more.

LaMar Langer

LaMar was a little man who resided in the utopia we call the public school system. He fit in well and always had enough cupcakes to nosh on. He had one debilitating issue though: he couldn’t swallow with his eyes open. His favorite janitor took him to the vet to see what was wrong. He exclaimed many things upon seeing LaMar, Dr. Frew, but none of any use. Most pertained to his extraordinarily lengthed nose hairs, whilst others spoke of his lovely overbite. In short, no cure was discovered. Ever.
Persimmons prostrate painfully; carats, with ease