Alliterative Autobiography [Classroom]

^{Alliterate often equals anyone can stutter.
—Louis Zukofsky}

CLASSROOM

Backpack. Back to school. A bookworm. Late nights book-warmed. Tall tales. Tell-Tale Heart. Stone soup. Mike Fink. A pink eraser. Ser & estar. A star atop the page. A typed page. Cut & paste. Sometimes I’m slow paced. Trace a wave. Cursive. Cursor. Sine curve. Frogger goes kerplunk. We speak & spell. Read & write. I do a rewrite. Rhyme by rote. Hey Diddle Diddle. Digits double. In my textbook I doodle. Sketch pad. Scotch tape. Scratch & sniff. Pear-fect. Berry good. Grape going. Study group. I glue some goop. A great big gooey glob. We spin the globe. Hong Kong. Fiji. Cancún. New York, New York. Blue ink. Half inch. Fluid ounce. I ace the exam for once. Pop quiz. Pop fizz. Scissors. Seat sore. Stegosaurus. From my seat paper planes soared. Chalkboard. I’m stark bored. The chalk broke. Pop Rocks. Pop cans. I can’t. You can. Pop-top. Twist the tab & crush. Orange Crush. Secret crush. Love letter. Origami amore. Already going steady. Valentine-vexed. Doodle-doted. Dimple-dappled. You’re dumped. Humpty Dumpty. We play pin the tail on the donkey. Mountain Dew. Scooby Doo. Dewey Decimals. Dutifully I return The Snowy Day by the due date. Dried dates. Damp day. Windowsill. Pencil. Pen swell. Pen pals. Pentagons. Going, gone. The bus is gone. Let go. Lego. Logo turtle. Or. Are. Oreo. Oregon Trail. Homework. Homeward. Sidewalk. The sign says walk. All week.