Charlie's Bad Poetry

Mr. Stamp gave me bad poetry
As an extra credit

I told him I was interested in poetry
And he handed me
This pile of paper
And said--

'Here'

I asked him if he wanted me to analyze it
And he said--

'No, I want you to fix it.'

I guess he had this friend
When he lived in California
Who wrote really bad poetry
But Mr. Stamp always sort of liked it for some reason
Because he thought there was something in it
Something that maybe his friend couldn't get to

He said sometimes
We're limited
By own our talent

I said, 'I know exactly what you mean, Mr. Stamp.  My sister is the best baton twirler in the state, but sometimes she throws the baton so high, it comes down too fast and hits her right on the head.  Although every time it happens she cries a little bit less.'

Mr. Stamp looked confused

I guess metaphors aren't his strong suit

I went home with his friend's bad poetry
And started working on it

The problem is, it was way too complicated

Lucky for me
I'm not that bright

Sometimes people who are smart
Forget that simplicity
Can be pretty beautiful
All on its own

I started revising
Editing
Cutting

I didn't add anything in
I just kept removing stuff
And changing things around

At the end of the week
I brought the new packet of poetry
To Mr. Stamp

He sat down and read it
Right in front of me
For almost an hour after school

When he was done
He looked up at me
Like I'd just come down
From a cloud or something

'Congratulations,' he said

'Does this mean I'm a poet,' I asked

'Better,' he said, 'You're an editor'

I guess Mr. Stamp
Figured that one out before I did

Now I'm one of the highest paid editors in New York
But I still wouldn't say I'm the sharpest person

At least I'm not my sister
She wound up running those beauty pageants for three-year-olds
That you see on tv sometimes

I may not be a poet
But I get to help poets
Get to places
They never even knew they wanted to go

And that's because of Mr. Stamp

He saved the world
From a lot of bad poetry