Nothing to Say

For someone who professes to be a writer, I should probably have something to, ya know, write. But I really don't. Work started again today after the long Christmas break and after spending seven hours back in the classroom and two hours revising (again) my YA manuscript my brain is sapped of all original thought. And you can forget about wit.

So how about an update, a poem, and a question for my many readers (two).

AN UPDATE: Received another rejection (or three) in the mail today from Carus Publishing (think Spider, Cricket, and other creepy crawlies) for three poems I sent on papyrus. (They have a reputation for being a tad s...l...o...w.) One of them, "published" for the first time below, was probably inappropriate for their publication and is probably inappropriate for any children's magazine in the current marketplace. So, since the odds of publication are low to nil, I thought I'd throw it on here where at least two people not in my family tree would read it.

A POEM:

My Hairy Dad

My dad’s not really bald

Although his head is bare

If you know where to look

You’ll find lots of hair

His armpits have a lot

His arms and legs do too

His chest is like a jungle

And his back hair is quite new

No my dad’s not really bald

In fact he’s very hairy

And there’s no doubt when he swims

He can look a little scary

**Poet's note: I eschew end punctuation because it confuses the heck out of me in poetry.

A QUESTION: What is the one grammatical error that absolutely drives you bonkers when you see it? My answer is pluralizing a possessive, such as the following real world example: "Woodies Car Parts." Ugh.