So now she's back
At the so-called blackboard
Scrawling away
With her misplaced rainbows
Of something like Japanese
Her inconsistent kanji
Erratic carillons
Of the lovesick sonnet
That she can't figure out how to start
And her Tuesday morning sensei
Can only see the lines
And never in between
Well maybe that's because
He's constantly away in
A bellicose insularity to
The discrepancy concerning
A katana and a heartstring
How many veins
To each one's blade
Of an irritated quill pen?
It's all there
Pedantically recorded
In her spike-rimmed tome
Of compulsive valentines
That even she can't translate
She keeps her errors to herself.