Red, Bed, said . . .

It is 4:42 p.m. and school ended at 3:55 and I am still here. I know, I keep asking myself why. It's Friday after all and the halls are quiet. But I am here, here working with a student who has disappointed me a dozens times or more and will again I am certain. But here I am trying my hardest to get him to write poems so he has something to turn in on Monday. We have been writing poems for four weeks now, almost daily and he has one completed. This is his second year in seventh grade and I am trying my best to make it his last. He has a good grade in my class but this could break it and I don't want to see that happen so I am here. On Friday. At quarter to five. Making him rhyme and write Haiku's. More later.