December 12, 2010

twas the night before therapy

the following is a poem i wrote in honor of speech therapy and the wonderful faculty at harding university. i read it at our annual christmas party this year and wanted to share it here with you. here is...

"twas the night before therapy"

twas the night before therapy, when the clinic was locked, not a creature was stirring, not even sara shock. the GAs had checked the therapy closet with care, but to their great surprise there was nothing there! the students were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of therapy materials danced in their heads. with ms. lowry in her ‘kerchief and dr. tullos in his cap, with mrs. fisher and mrs. traughber both taking naps, out in the parking lot there arose such a clatter,
martha vendetti sprang from her office to see what was the matter. away to the lobby she flew like a flash, and she busted through the front door with one, quick dash. the parking lot was vacant, with no one in sight. not a soul but vendetti was at the reynolds that night. when, what to her wondering eyes should appear, a red sebring and a driver full of cheer. a woman so knowledgeable that you better believe her, she knew in a moment it must be dr. weaver. more rapid than eagles the faculty they came, and she whistled, and shouted, and called them by name, “now, lowry! now, fisher! now, baker! now, chance! on, tullos! on, traughber! on, shock! let’s dance! go into the reynolds! now on down the hall! now dash away! dash away! dash away, all!” into the clinic they all began to fly, with bags of tests and materials there by their sides. and into the closet and the therapy rooms they flew. the mighty CSD faculty had serious work to do. they delivered all of the arizonas and the goldman-fristoes, but going into the wrong rooms received some “nay, nay, pacos.” they had the CELF-4 and the OWLS in their hands; jenga, monopoly junior, and several candy lands; otoscopes and audiometers and lots of fun dip; a brand new mighty mouth with bright, pink lips. a bundle of toys dr. weaver had on her back, and she looked like the fairy godmother as she opened her pack. her eyes, how they sparkled! her dimples, how merry! her demeanor, so regal! her lips, like a cherry! as she walked through the clinic, it started to glow, her elegant white hair the very essence of snow. they all filled the closet with games and toys so that therapy would be more pleasant for all the little girls and boys. ready to conquer the world one speech impediment at a time, the closet was now stocked with weber photo cards and rhymes. lateral lisps and troubled /r/s would be no match for all the materials there in the therapy hatch. but in the blink of an eye, the clock started to strike four, and in only a number of hours, clients would be at the door. and before therapy started, the faculty needed sleep, without giving away to the students evidence of their nightly creep. so without a word the faculty all rushed home, and to the lobby of the reynolds, dean weaver did roam. mrs. vendetti ran to the parking lot as dr. weaver flew to her car, and she shot out of there that night just like a shooting star. but mrs. vendetti heard her exclaim, ere she drove out of sight… “happy therapy to all, and to all a good night!”

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