Friday, April 27

Put finishing touches on peer edits and turned in research papers if necessary.

Read this poem by MIchael McFee! It's great!

Spitwads
Little paper cuds we made 
by ripping the corners or edges 
from homework and class notes 
then ruminating them into balls 
we’d flick from our fingertips 
or catapult with pencils 
or (sometimes after lunch) 
launch through striped straws 
like deadly projectiles 
toward the necks of enemies 
and any other target where they’d 
stick with the tiniest splat, 
I hope you’re still there, 
stuck to unreachable ceilings 
like the beginnings of nests 
by generations of wasps 
too ignorant to finish them 
or under desktops with blunt 
stalactites of chewing gum, 
little white words we learned 
to shape and hold in our mouths 
while waiting to let them fly, 
our most tenacious utterance.