Grading Children at a Play
(with apologies to Robert Frost)
Whose son this is I think I know,
His mom is in the lockup, though.
She will not see me judging here
To watch her boy’s skit win the show.
My teacher’s aide must think it queer
To boost this scamp up from the rear
Ahead of pets whose plays might make
Them winners at this grand premier.
The aide gives her gradebook a shake
As if to ask ‘bout this mistake.
But then the sounds that she should keep
Were clapping hands and seats that quake.
This son’s now saved, profound and deep,
But I’ve more dropouts still to reap
With talents shown – no need to weep
With talents shown – no need to weep.