“Drafting is for the dead!” the girl cried
as she strangled an essay into an awkward shape.
“Words are alive. We grow and change, flip the page.
Editing is a suggestion, sometimes an inhibitor!
Why can’t we make up words and phrases.
The Author is God; writing is Art;
shouldn’t the reader try to get up to their level?”

Professor Ellen looked down her notebook,
eying the attendance for her English class.
“Because the goal is to communicate your thoughts Amy.
Trust me, no one is going to understand
what a serfphant is doing in the damn ocean
or look up if a hummingbee is real.
You still have twenty minutes to finish your essay.”

Amy scowled at the mottled page,
graphite wearing on her left hand.
The second hand rattled her nerves,
much like the white walls and ceiling high
windows that lacked any and all imagination.
“Well I think it’s all stupid anyway.
Not like we’re going to need this later.”

Without looking up from her papers,
Professor Ellen chuckled and sighed.
“Well you’re here anyway, so you might as well
just finish what you have.” Amy groaned.
“And sit up straight. You can’t slouch
in a skirt as short as that.” There was a unified
gasp that covered the class.

“But to answer your theory. Drafting is necessary;
to guide your reader, set up expectations.
Going in like a cowboy to lasso some untamed thoughts
will make you look more like a rodeo clown.
You won’t make a lick of sense and others won’t
take you seriously. So pull yourself up by the bootstraps
and do what you can. Time’s a tickin!”

Eyes finally locked onto papers,
classmates sharing in embarrassment
the same stress and disdain, they finally agreed.
If they all could escape the constant drain
of checking and editing, and checking and going,
then we’d all skip the constant drafting.
Once we hit the world running, we all realize
Amy and Ellen are both kinda right: Drafting is for the dead,
but you can’t be caught dead without it.