Poetry with Punch

The 5th annual "6th Grade Poetry with Punch" event was this evening.  It was an auspicious occasion of figurative language and an assortment of fine cheeses set off with classical music and extravagant desserts.  With the warm weather, we anticipated an audience of perhaps three and were pleasantly surprised to have every seat filled.  One ball player rushed in towards the end of the program, out-of-breath from practice, in order to read his poem.  Our students were sweet and sincere and proud of their poetry. As emcee, I was loud and bumbling and obnoxious and incredibly proud of their public speaking skills and poetic talent.

Truth-be-told, the real entertainment happens behind the scenes. Brad finally unearthed
 my deep dark secret (well, one of them anyways) when he graciously ordered the "Poetry with Punch" cake.  Text message from my husband: Are you aware that this cake is going to cost $60?  Text message reply from me:  Oh my goodness! Really?!?  I cringed as I pictured his calculations as he quickly time-traveled back over the past five years. Ordering it turned out to be the easy part.  When Syd and I showed up later, we initially mistook our cake for a small coffee table. We each grabbed an end and carried it out like a couch.  I stuffed Syd and my very valuable cake into the small confines of my Ford Ranger.  Changing gears took a careful synchronization of lifting, shifting and sifting.  

Its appearance in my classroom had the desired effect of producing an eager anticipation of tonight's event.  "What?!? You want me to come to school at night to read poetry?" is suddenly replaced with "Wait?!? If I show up and read a little poem, I'm rewarded with a giant piece of cake along with an assortment of fine cheeses?  And there's sherbet in the punch? RAINBOW sherbet?!?"  Its appearance at the school further underscored my delusional tendencies to my colleagues.  "What are we going to do with all the leftover cake," they moaned.  Dee generously cut plate-sized pieces for our guests.  Hyped-up on sugar, our students have never read so expressively before, with such passion and enthusiasm.  We may have inadvertently stumbled upon the secret to tackling the global issue of illiteracy.  The question is:  is my husband be willing to fork out another sixty bucks to feed this problem?

Mrs. Harris (Kelly) was busy feeding us and Jack prior to "Poetry with Punch."  While Kelly, Deanna, Cathy and I enjoyed Al's chicken finger pizza, Jack scooted happily around Dee's classroom.  When it was Jack's turn at the trough, Kel plopped him unceremoniously in my lap.  Soon, I was covered in sticky orange slices and purple yogurt.  As a grand finale, Jack's juice went off like a volcano.  I was now officially outfitted to emcee our red carpet gala.  I was so relieved when Savannah showed up with little Chlo.  Thank goodness that a well-behaved, sweet-smelling, quiet little creature would be on hand.  As I introduced poets with my demure dachshund, Jack's voice filled the room.  Seriously...couldn't Kel strap a muzzle on that kid?  Someone pointed out the obvious behavior differences between our two special guests but Kel seemed oblivious that some obedience training was in order.  Even after the event, the contrast was quite evident.  While Chlo graciously cleaned the carpet of cake crumbs, Jack thoughtlessly pulled every book in the library off the shelf.  We got a chilling look at the future when we observed him discreetly researching illegal substances (see picture).   We had a great night.  For some, poetry is a highly-structured, sophisticated affair.  But for others, poetry is sticky and sweet, filled with the hopes and dreams of 11- and 12-year-olds.  For them, poetry actually is a piece of cake.  

Our reasonably-priced purchase

Jack reading from the forbidden section of the library.