SWEET TALK ── charlie dalton

iv.

❨𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓❩
O' ME O' ARCHITECT

I was placed in my usual seat between Charlie and Neil, the textbook Understanding Poetry on my desk. Keating had yet to start the class yet, so I chatted with my brother about our dog, skippy, at home. I missed the little golden doodle. He was about the only thing I missed. It was hard to convince our parents to let us get a dog but ultimately, I mean with a little crying, my mother caved. My father, did not. In fact he tried to get rid of it every chance he got.

"Gentlemen and Ladies, open your textbooks to page 21 of this introduction. Mr. Perry, will you read the opening paragraph of the preface entitled Understanding Poetry?" Mr. Keating asked my brother. Neil placed his round glasses on his face and began;

"'Understanding Poetry,' by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, Ph.D. To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme and figures of speech, then ask two questions: 1) How artfully has the objective of the poem been rendered and 2) How important is that objective? Question 1 rates the poem's perfection; question 2 rates its importance. And once these questions have been answered, determining the poem's greatness becomes a relatively simple matter." He spoke;

"If the poem's score for perfection is plotted on the horizontal of a graph and its importance is plotted on the vertical, then calculating the total area of the poem yields the measure of
its greatness."

My eyes followed along, jotting the graph Keating was drawing on the board. Was this English or math class? Neil stopped reading, his eyes looking at the graph. Keating nodded, telling him to continue;

"A sonnet by Byron might score high on the vertical but only average on the
horizontal. A Shakespearean sonnet, on the other hand, would score high both horizontally and vertically, yielding a massive total area, thereby revealing the poem to be truly great. As you
proceed through the poetry in this book, practice this rating method. As your ability to evaluate poems in this matter grows, so will, so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry." When he was done, Neil took his glasses off, setting them gently on his desk. I finished taking the note on the board, placing my pencil down.

"Excrement. That's what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard." Keating spoke, wandering away from the board. "We're not laying pipe. We're talking about poetry. How can you describe poetry like American Bandstand?" Behind me Charlie chuckled. Oh, I like Byron. I give him a 42, but I can't dance to it. Now, I want you to rip out that page." The light laughter that had filled the air moments before was replaced with silence. I stared at him, then back at my textbook, I had spent good money on it. "Go on. Rip out the entire page. You heard me." He egged us on. I looked around the classroom unsurely. The others seemed to be hesitant as well. "Rip it out. Rip it out! Go on. Rip it out!" Ruby and I looked at each other, talking telepathically. She held the same look, uncertainty swimming behind her eyes. The sound of ripping came from behind me. I turned around, seeing Charlie holding up the page, it being crumpled in his fist.