The breeding habits of chimpanzees,
the wonders of the birds and bees
give life to dreams of half-sleeping writers,
writing the story of cowards and fighters.
Without much strength or excess force,
from our essays, we divorce,
leaving our thoughts to important things
like sex, and music— slides and swings.
Of Bassanio, we do not care,
and Shakespeare’s works we cannot bear.
And yet our pens continue to scribble-
Good luck to that who reads our dribble.
We fret not over Hercules’ beard,
or some God that Caesar feared,
because as far as we’re concerned,
the Day of Work should be adjourned.
Restless motion sifts through our scene.
People wave from behind the screen.
And though discontent in our scribing cells,
we continue to scribble! Still! Still!
Is that a metaphor, simile, or allusion?
Is this character smart or under delusion?
We backspace rapidly when we use foul words,
like unrelated thoughts on Angry Birds.
If the point still evades, we count to ten…
and then scribble,
scribble,
scribble,
again.
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I actually like Shakespeare when I’m not researching him. What’s something you like until you’re forced to analyze it?
