Metrophobia
You have to do it.
Teach poetry.
It’s on the syllabus. Required.
Everyone hates it.
What did you think I meant—
fear of public transit?
As if that weren’t reasonable.
Paris, Washington, D.C.—
you’ve seen the crowds:
tourists and politicians,
sometimes both.
No—this is worse. Verse played up,
popped its tether,
gone feral:
contagious, unruly.
No counted feet,
no shelter in rhythm.
Just words—all thistles.
Hidden meanings everywhere:
trap doors, nettles, and snares.
No shelter in obedient rhyme,
no comic snap.
It will not
scan.
It will not
sit.
All the teachers hate it.
I watch it spread—
hand-cranked,
through lunch,
spirit duplicated,
mimeographed ghosts,
Banda, Ditto,
purple ink still damp,
that smell,
they used to sniff the page,
then paper darts
wedged behind radiators,
crumpled in corners,
pages scattered across the floor.
I’ll have to pick them up
after the bell.
Every stray page,
every mangled syllable.
Because if I don’t,
the cleaners will complain
about the state of my room
again.
I’ll drive myself home.
Tomorrow, we’ll do metaphor.
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metrophobia (noun)
/ˌmɛt.roʊˈfoʊ.bi.ə/
An abnormal, persistent fear of poetry — including reading, writing, reciting, or being exposed to it. From Greek metron (“measure” or “verse”) + phobos (“fear”).
Like other specific phobias, it may involve anxiety, avoidance, or physical discomfort when confronted with poetic language or the prospect of having to interpret or perform it (as in a classroom setting).
Note: “Metrophobia” isn’t a formally recognized clinical diagnosis in the DSM-5; it’s typically discussed as an informal or colloquial term for a specific fear, similar to other “-phobia” words coined from Greek roots.
To see the importance of the Ditto machine in education, see this key scene from Teachers (1980).
Very good, Josie. I remember copy machines and the smell of the ink. While I didn’t see that film, I can identify with the hysteria as we had several such beasts in the back office at JFK that tried our patience and frequently saw us covered in ink, so this gave me a chuckle.
High-stress industries – where employees must compete for essential scarce resources – are always tense!
Oh, my gosh! I remember those mimeographed worksheets and how they smelled when they were “new”!
The smell, the smudges, the limp damp blurriness of it all.
My favorite word in this poem (though there are a limitless number to choose from) has to be “again,” particularly as it has a line all to itself.
That word is the signal for the self-pity to really kick in.
I laughed all the way through. Then, I sought out and re-read Billy Collins’s “Introduction to Poetry,” and laughed again.
It’s always good when you can make someone laugh! Thanks so much for the lovely comment, and that Billy Collins poem is one of his best!