78.

In English we're supposed to be doing poetry now. Whoo.
Basically we were supposed to read this one peom and then write our own in the style of the other one. Here's how it went down:

Original:

Some Functions of a Leaf
Don McKay

To whisper. To applaud the wind
and hide the Hermit thrush.
To catch the light
and work the humble spell of photosynthesis
(excuse me, sir, if I might have one word)
by which it's changed to wood.
To wait
willing to feed

and be food

To die with style:
as the tree retreats inside itself,
shutting off the valves at its
extremities
to starve in Technicolor, then
having served two hours in a children's leaf pile, slowly
stir its vitamins into the earth.

To be the artist of mortality.



Sarah's Poem:

Some Functions of a Corpse

To be silent. To applaud its maker
and hide the involuntary movements.
To absorb the cold
and disprove the notion of immortality
(excuse me, miss, may I touch you here?)
and be little more than an object.
To bloat,
willing to decay
and be food.

To be displayed ignominiously
as the creator reaches out of himself
shutting off the morals of
society
to indulge in carnal pleasures, then
having served this short lived purpose, carefully
eviscerated in a basement.

To be the object of desire.

Whoot?