June and I have attended many poetry workshops together over the years. By the way, June isn’t her real name. I don’t want to embarrass her with the story I’m about to tell.
One year, we went to a workshop where the presenter was Dawn Senior-Trask. I don’t recall what year that was or where the workshop was held. I don’t remember too much about Dawn-Senior Trask except that she had worked with children. Naturally, she took in stride what transpired during the workshop.
In the morning, June and I were sitting side by side with other workshop participants. We’d just ben given a prompt, and we were writing away, minding our own business. Suddenly,