Some BACKGROUND is needed for THIS THING. My final test for an English Literature class (American Literature. Post Civil War. Super Posh stuff, y'all) was a take home exam. Lucky me. For the final section we had to look critically at a poem of our own choosing and then write a nice little paragraph analyzing the piss out of said choose-yr-own-powm. So, instead of that, I did this. And wasn't I just so proud. Here's a link to the poem if anyone cares to get their head blown off by really top notch poetry: http://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&q=cache:UVQllMQc0JoJ:hs.auburn.cnyric.org/teachers/Deborah_Rielly/11%2520Regents%2520folder/FOV3-00107025/S00DC375F.2/recipe%2520and%2520nex%2520to%2520of%2520course.doc+janice+mirikitani+recipe&hl=en&gl=us&pid=bl&srcid=ADGEESgDtBeyeXJMHMosHCPVt5IMq3yaydiQzvkvrz-aiMRAuHtPZwSihHhQD7z3ejhUCF8j_516Y737LIDl2-bwh1N8SBtxCZKT0Kn5p6cRfIhH2lFe12ZpwQcgc5939JfBXxgwuJyu&sig=AHIEtbRl9gENj6Zgx3vGvpUJCQJh9TPAPQ
‘Shit,’ he said. The sound of his own voice caused him to jump and laugh in his chair. He didn’t mean the laugh. It wasn’t a laugh, he thought. It was a bark. He closed the book and placed it gently on his desk. He felt cold. He swore again. It was a nice day outside. Seventy and sunny. Not a cloud out there.
He didn’t realize he wasn’t looking at anything. It didn’t matter, anyway. Outside, a boy dove for a Frisbee and missed. A girl in a pink dress giggled. The boy picked himself up and laughed as he looked down at his grass stained knees. The girl was humming a pop song.
Do not cry.
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