"Yeah, well, I'm worried. You've muddled your words up a lot lately,"
Sarah said as she reached into the aquarium. "Yesterday you said
'bunion' when you were talking about that Big Onion tour for class, and
today you messed up 'alley cat'." She lifted the smaller terrapin out of
his home and brought him to eye level. She started making faces at him
as if she thought she could make him grin.
"Yesterday's mistake was an honest one," I said over a yawn. I opened up
my copy of /Canadian Poets/. "And I meant to say 'Galleycat'. It's a
good site." In my notebook I jotted down the title of the night's
critique: "The Will of the Wisp" by Cannie Hampbell Huestis. One glance
back at the poetry book and I scowled to myself. I tore out the sheet of
notebook paper, crumpled it and then tossed into my wire wastebasket. On
the new sheet I corrected it: "The Will-o'-the-Wisp" by Annie Campbell
Maybe Sarah wasn't making it up. Maybe my recent metathesis difficulty
had something to do with impending final exam stress. If that was my
case, I knew the cure. I promptly closed the poetry book and put it on
top of my small copy of Lewis Carroll's "The Hunting of the Snark",
which would be the subject of my next paper.
"Sarah, put the turtle away," I ordered my roommate. "Tonight is no
night for poetry criticism or reptile study. Tonight we hit the gin pail
and we hit it hard."
EVERY night is right for reptile study, I mean c'mon!!!
Scoring to come