Where they have been, if they have been away,
or what they've done at home, if they have not -
you make them write about the holiday.
One writes My Dad did. What? Your Dad did what?
That's not a sentence. Never mind the bell.
We stay behind until the work is done.
You count their words (you who can count and spell);
all the assignments are complete bar one
and though this boy seems bright, that one is his.
He says he's finished, doesn't want to add
anything, hands it in just as it is.
No change. My Dad did. What? What did his Dad?
You find the 'E' you gave him as you sort
through reams of what this girl did, what that lad did,
and read the line again, just one 'e' short:
This holiday was horrible. My Dad did.
- Sophie Hannah
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
i learn of this poem from a new friend today. A sad poem about a teacher who asked her students to write an essay on what they did during the holidays. A bright little boy only wrote a sentence and then stopped writing at all. The teacher couldn't understand what the little boy wrote and since he only wrote one sentence, compared to his peers who wrote lots of things, naturally the teacher decided to give him an E.