Charlotte, Emily, Anne… Your Reputations Are Safe

In high school, I was not a great student in academic classes. Auto shop, no problem. Machine shop? Good to go. Welding? Drafting? right on it.

English class? Not so much.

Most of the teachers were cool with it. After all, it wasn’t honors kids. They found ways to make it work. Junior year, though, things were rough. 

By midyear, I had cut school maybe thirty days, and English class was a big part of it. At this point, we had been brit-litted to death. Thomas Hardy can eat my shorts. The Brontë sisters? I’d rather eat Haggis. We had an assignment that was, roughly:

Assignment: “Write a poem in the style of one of the Brontës.”

I don’t recall which, as I never could tell one from the other. I failed, but I still have my submission:

Poem:

“Life is short, but I am young
You’re an a**, so f*** rhyming.”