May 20, 2008
I was born a proofreader,
Red ink pen in hand.
I learned quickly
To catch mistakes
In anything that was sent my way.
A swoop and an arrow,
And I can fix bad grammar.
A circle and an underline
And spelling is corrected.
But some mistakes take more
Than a Bic pen to fix.
Boys and parents
And too much homework
Can’t be crossed out,
Can’t be slashed through.
I can’t insert a period
To make any problem
I can’t add a comma
To make my teachers
And I can’t put in an apostrophe
To cut something
Sentences run on
And tenses overlap.
Imperfection is eternal.
It’s too bad that
I’m a perfectionist.

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