Lifting

I wrote a short story
That wasn’t really mine
I heard it told by mother
And remembered ev’ry line

It was a school assignment
Waited ’til it was due
Instead, I hung out in the park
And even at the zoo

But then came time to turn it in
And I didn’t have anything written
With a blank page I commenced with my crime
Scribbled those words Mom told many times

I made some creative adjustments
Like changing names of key players
Altered other details until I was done
And placed it with the stack of papers

My teacher was prompt in scoring our stories
The very next day came news of how we had done
She handed back papers with bold grades facing up
But turned my story over with front facing down

“This story is great;
I remember it well.
It’s just like the one
My mother would tell…”

I stayed in for lunch and afternoon recess
To make penance for cheating and pay for my guilt
I wrote a new story about honor and trust
To repair the bad credit that needed rebuilt

I tried to steal someone’s short story
And pass it off as mine
But in my feeble defense
I was only nine.

Check out my other poetry here.

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