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after another hard day of classes, it was now time for english. as scarlett sat in her seat behind neil, she shot her father a smile.
john sat at his desk at the front of the classroom and opened the english textbook.
"gentlemen, and ladies, open your text to page twenty-one of the introduction." he looked at the list of names. "mr. perry, will you read the opening paragraph of the preface, entitled 'understanding poetry'?"
neil nodded as he put his glasses on. scarlett always thought neil looked cute with his glasses. she liked the way they rested on his nose.
"understanding poetry, by dr. j. evans pritchard, ph.d. to fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme, and figures of speech..." neil began. the dull text was sucking all of the life out of the room. charlie, who's face was resting in his hand, was slowly falling asleep.
as neil continued to read, john got up from his desk and prepared to draw on the chalkboard.
"if the poem's score for perfection is plotted along the horizontal of a graph, and its importance is plotted on the vertical, then calculating the total area of the poem yields the measure of its greatness."
john drew a corresponding graph. students began to lazily copy the graph, while cameron brought out a ruler and drew perfect lines.
"a sonnet by byron may score high on the vertical, but only average on the horizontal. a shakespearan sonnet, on the other hand, would score high both horizontally and vertically, yielding a massive total area, thereby revealing the poem to be truly great. as you proceed through the poetry in this book, practice this rating method. as your ability to evaluate poems in this matter grows, so will-" neil paused for a moment. "-so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry."
neil set the book down and took off his glasses, setting them on the desk.
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scarlett let out a deep sigh. she was glad that neil was done reading. if he were to keep going, scarlett would have no choice but to rip her own ears off or simply killing neil.
john, on the other hand, turned away from the chalkboard with a smile.
"excrement." he began. "that's what i think of mr. j. evans pritchard. we're not laying pipe, we're talking about poetry. cameron looked down at the neatly drawn graph he had copied into his notes and quickly scribbled it out.
