16 Texts

Some people say a shirt is worn outta pride
An English "T" is Tyrian dyed (!)
Dollars and cents and poems and songs,
A shirt that's cool 'cause it writes no wrongs.

You grade 16 texts, what do ya get?
Another day older and a-deeper in debt.
Miss Betty, don't you call me 'cause I can't go;
My overload's so heavy that it's squashing my soul.

I arrived one morning when the sun didn't shine;
I picked up my pen with nary a whine;
I considered assessment, but the thought was too droll,
And the NCA boss said, "Well, bless-a my soul."

You grade 16 texts, what do ya get?
Another day older and a-deeper in debt.
Miss Betty, don't you call me 'cause I can't go;
My overload's so heavy that it's squashing my soul.

I arrived one mornin'; it was past midterm.
Fragments and run-ons were making me squirm.
I was raised in the canebrake by Strunk and by White
Cain't no lousy grammar get past-a my sight.

You grade 16 texts, what do ya get?
Another day older and a-deeper in debt.
Miss Betty, don't you call me 'cause I can't go;
My overload's so heavy that it's squashing my soul.

If you see me comin', better step aside;
A lotta men didn't, a lotta men died.
I no longer range; the rhetoric's cold.
But at least on this shirt the lettering's gold.

You grade 16 texts, what do ya get?
Another day older and a-deeper in debt.
Miss Betty, don't you call me 'cause I can't go;
My overload's so heavy that it's squashing my soul.

The Shirt Not Chosen

Two shirts diverged in a bedroom dark,
And sorry I could not wear both
And be one Ranger, ages I stood
And looked at the white one for as long as I could
And where it hung in the closet;

Then took the other just as fair,
And also, perhaps - the more noble grape
I chose the one that would leave mouths agape;
Though it's true that both could raise a dollar
To donate to some aspiring scholar.

So both Friday morning equally hung
With messages from each still to be wrung (!),
Oh, I kept the first for another day,
Yet knowing how Ranging leads on the way,
I doubted if "To Compose is to Live" would once more be sung.

I shall be e-mailing this with a sigh
After all it's another appeal for your cents;
Two shirts diverged on a morn and I --
I'll try writing no wrongs as my poem passes by
And hope that will make all the difference.

          I know, I know... and I said I was sorry...