Day Three Hundred and Thirty Four: Fragment

We went long into distant family homes,
With a man who can write, but has no idea of prose,
He obtained stilted grammar, and spat it out on a page
Almost like English is a foreign tongue,
Even though he’s English born and bred,
We were almost never impressed –
Childish fiction, comic book in orientation
Writing in half-baked academic tones
Because for so long that’s all he had ever known.

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