Ficlets

Literature 101: An Apology to My Students {part 4}

In the back of the class, a young lady behind W. B. Yeats whispered, “Psst. Don’t tell her I paid you to write it.”

Yeats nodded his agreement.

“Miss?” Lady Augusta called out. “Did you have time to read my play?”

“Yes,” the teacher responded, plopping a B+ paper in front of her student. “It was just as good as the comedy you wrote last week.” As she walked away, Yeats turned in his seat to give Augusta a thumbs-up.

“This is a nice piece,” she handed another young lady a paper with a B+. “But it’s not all there.”

“It was ripped, ma’am.”

“I see, Sappho. Try not to let it happen again.” The teacher sniffed and walked into a cloudy haze. “What is this? Oh, hello, Rumi.” She looked at the little man next to him. “And his interpreter. Well,” she passed Rumi an A paper, “I gave him extra points because I thought it might make more sense in his home language.” The student handed back some papers. “What’s this? You’ve written three more poems since class began? OK, I’ll read them tonight.”

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