Linda Pastan’s “Marks”
My husband gives me an A
for last night’s supper,
an incomplete for my ironing,
a B plus in bed.
My son says I am average,
an average mother, but if
I put my mind to it
I could improve.
My daughter believes
in Pass/Fail and tells me
I pass. Wait ’til they learn
I’m dropping out.
Langston Hughes’ “Harlem: A Dream Deferred”
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
Like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Teevee by Eve Merriam
In the house
of Mr and Mrs Spouse
he and she
would watch teevee
and never a word
between them spoken
until the day the set was broken
Then “How do you do?”
said he to she,
“I don’t believe we’ve met yet.”
Spouse is my name.
“What’s yours?” he asked.
“Why, mine is the same!”
said he to she,
“Do you suppose that we could be –?”
But then the set came suddenly right about
And so they never did find out.
Linda Pastan’s “Marks”
My husband gives me an A
for last night’s supper,
an incomplete for my ironing,
a B plus in bed.
My son says I am average,
an average mother, but if
I put my mind to it
I could improve.
My daughter believes
in Pass/Fail and tells me
I pass. Wait ’til they learn
I’m dropping out.
The Rose
Some say love, it is a river
that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
an endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
and you its only seed.
It’s the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance.
It’s the dream afraid of waking
that never takes the chance.
It’s the one who won’t be taken,
who cannot seem to give,
and the soul afraid of dyin’
that never learns to live.
When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been to long,
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong,
just remember in the winter
far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed that with the sun’s love
in the spring becomes the rose.
Langston Hughes’ “Harlem: A Dream Deferred”
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
Like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Eve Merriam Teevee
In the house
of Mr and Mrs Spouse
he and she
would watch teevee
and never a word
between them spoken
until the day the set was broken
Then “How do you do?”
said he to she,
“I don’t believe we’ve met yet.”
Spouse is my name.
“What’s yours?” he asked.
“Why, mine is the same!”
said he to she,
“Do you suppose that we could be –?”
But then the set came suddenly right about
And so they never did find out.
