Poem: Too Much for the Editor to Take

Too Much for the Editor to Take
An editorial lament

The red pen’s dry, the margin’s full,
Each note a sigh, each cut a pull.
The plot meanders, weak and thin—
Where does it end? Where to begin?

Characters change mid-chapter’s breath,
A timeline dies a quiet death.
Dialogue clunks like boots in mud,
And why on Earth this subplot flood?

The pacing drags, then leaps ahead,
A love arc wedged, then left for dead.
The metaphors? A cursed parade—
“The moon was like… a microwave?”

Each page I read, I lose my will,
Yet still I mark, revise, distill.
I tape my sanity with scotch,
And mutter “Godspeed” to my watch.

I’ve stitched their scenes, I’ve smoothed their lines,
I’ve dodged their jokes and clunky signs.
But now I sit, my soul opaque—
It’s too much for this heart to take.

So let me nap ‘neath drafts that quake—
This might be more than I can fake.

Thank-you for reading.

Remember there are many paths back to God.

Follow your own path,

Brenda Marie