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The Poetry Of Bad Grades

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Someone had ripped paper in two
in the trash can
to escape the fights and sobs.

For it was the end of the school year
dread and expectation thrown wide.
Why must I divide numbers
in twos
and threes
and fours?

Wouldn't they be better as wholes, not split up so horribly so?

Had we stuck with addition, they’d grow like flowers from seeds. Had we stuck with subtracting, they’d be neatly trimmed as a bush.

My grades would grow like that flower would, maybe even multiply by twos or threes or fours.

But dividing it does,
making my grades grow smaller,
my parents shout louder.






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