The Dictation Barter

What does porous mean, the kid mumbled.

His eyebrows twitched, how many more, let me just cram...

Tomorrow is the dictation test.

Until miss English, nudges the paper into my palms.

Chocolate horlicks and words will keep curdling in my bloated tummy...

 

She gazed at the kid, she yearned for a possible barter, a barter quite ruthless...

Verbosity and the sour gut, she could relish!

But not her porous heart anymore, trickling even that iota of hope...

Her soul to be hung on the cloth line, as the morning chore,

A soul with dreary eyes and wet cheeks...

Pleading for the mercy of the sun, to be dried again!