A Smokescreen Poem by Margaret Alice Second

Bragging at work, telling alI I'm over saying goodbye
to my daughter, going home to eat and eat and eat,
bread, granola and instant oats & wondering what's
going on, why am I depressed looking at the lovely
book that inspired me last night to plan a lesson in
writing for kids: how they would have to write their
stories in groups then shorten by focusing on main
elements, after that - reading the prescribed book
to let them discover what good writing is all about:

Polishing, filing, cutting and weeding an original text,
a great work of art starts as a long winding road of
thoughts which the author and editor cut away until
only the essence, the main theme and all the special
supporting chords are left - what a fantasy - what a
great dream: getting kids to understand by doing &
upstaging their elders, though after indulging in the
visionary excitement I still don't feel well as some-
thing's wrong, something's gone - oh yes -

My daughter's in Mexico for six months, looks like
my bandied about calm was just a smoke-screen
to fool myself….