Zelda Grim sits at her desk,

Scratching at her paper

With an idle pencil,

Wondering what to write.



You can tell she can't think

(of a topic to write about)

By the way she twists her hair,

By the way her eyes wander.



On the chalkboard I've put up words

To encourage her train of thought ...

Words like maternal, grog, coffee, acceptance

Milkman, hard, run, scotch tape and

Many, many more.



I try to encourage her; she's very smart but

It's hard to get her going.

She's looking out the window at squirrels

Scurrying around the trees and at

The clouds passing over.

With twenty minutes left of class

All she has is a snarl in her hair and

Scribbles on her paper.



I'm almost hoping she'll write on the desk;

Maybe then she'd learn to write

When she's supposed to.

Miss Zelda Grim, sitting there,

Her head filled with clouds.



What else can I do? Why won't she write?

Knots in her hair and scribbles on the paper

Won't get an A in my class.



Rinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng.

There's the bell; no credit for Miss Zelda Grim



Today. Then, I have to say, "Thanks,"

In astonishment.

As I've been sitting here

Secretly complaining

About her cloud gazing and

The twisted knots in her hair,

She's written this piece about

What I must think

While I stared hard at her.