“Our lunch hour begins at
12:47.”
“What time is it now?”
“There’s a clock over
there, Alex.”
“Yah, I can’t read
those kind, Ms. Hiltop,
with the hands and stuff.
I only read the ones with
the numbers, like on my
cell phone here. Hey, wanna
hear my new ringtone? It makes a
sound like a fart!”
“Oh, my! I guess we didn’t quite get to the rule about
cell phones. Alex, cell phones should be left in your
locker, unless you have been given specific permission
to use it in class.”
“Well, how am I going to know what time it is,
then?”
“I guess I’ll just have to teach you how to read the
clock on the wall.”
“Man, I think this year is going to be a lot harder
than I thought — ”
“You can say that again … ”
“What? You say something, Ms. H.?”
“Never mind.”
POETRY: SECOND PLACE (TIE)
Prairie Harvest
Georgia Bernice Sullivan
Modern-day dinosaurs prowl throughout the land,
Gobbling up stands of grain
Or scooping up swaths from corduroy fields into wide maws,
Churning yields into innards, spitting grain into hoppers,
And spewing out the straw.
Trucks swoop in to off-load grain,
Doing their delicate side by side dance,
Then fly away to rows of silver sentinels
Standing tall against the sky.
These stewards of the land ride the beasts
In cabs of beeping sensors and cooled air.
They keep leery eyes on the skies.
All summer they prayed for rain,
And now, in autumn hours, they cast spells to repel the showers.
Round and round they prowl to the pulsing and thrumming diesel sound,
Until late at night when the dew point pounces
To toughen straw and grain. Then weary warriors climb down.
Trading combine cabs for pick-up cabs, they head for home
And bed.
Want to enter the 2020 Writing
Contest? See page 8.
news&views AUTUMN 2020 | 41