Maybe Dats Your Pwoblem Too

(by Jim Hall)

All my pwoblems who knows,
maybe evwybody's pwoblems is due to da fact,
due to da awful twuth dat I am

I know, I know. All da dumb jokes:
No flies on you, ha ha,
and da ones about what do I do wit all doze extwa legs in bed.
Well, dat's funny yeah. But you twy being
SPIDERMAN for a month or two.
Go ahead.

You get doze cwazy calls fwom da Gubbener
askin you to twap some booglar
who's only twying to wip off color TV sets.
Now, what do I cawre about TV sets?
But I pull on da suit, da stinkin suit,
wit da sucker cups on da fingers,
and get my wopes and wittle bundle of equipment
and den I go flying like cwazy
acwoss da town fwom woof top to woof top.

Till der he is. Some poor dumb color TV slob
and I fall on him and we westle a widdle
until I get him all woped.

So big deal. You tink when you SPIDERMAN
der's sometin big going to happen to you.

Well, I tell you what. It don't happen dat way.
Nuttin happens. Gubbener calls, I go.
Bwing him to powice, Gubbener calls again,
like dat over and over.

I tink I twy sometin diffunt.
I tink I twy sometin excitin like wacing cawrs.
Sometin to make my heart beat at a difwent wate.
But den you just can't quit being sometin like SPIDERMAN.
You SPIDERMAN for life. Fowever.
I can't even buin my suit. It won't buin. It's fwame wesistent.

So maybe dat's youwr pwoblem too, who knows.

Maybe dat's da whole pwoblem wif evwytin.
Nobody can buin der suits, dey all fwame wesistent.
Who knows?


Assignment: Write a Copy Change of this poem where you pick something that you are for life. For example, I will be a teacher for life, and a nerd, and a Greyhound owner, and a reader, and a gardner. Students often choose a sport or activity that they do outside of school, like ski, play soccer, play football, etc. I've included my Teacher one so you can see how I did it. While this is a copy change, I still want this to be your poem, so make it your own.


“Maybe That’s Your Problem Too”

by Barbara Crumb

February 18, 2003


All my problems

who knows, maybe everybody’s problems

is due to the fact, due to that awful truth

that I am a TEACHER.


I know, I know. All the dumb jokes:

You only work 6 hours a day, ha, ha,

and the ones about “What’s the top 3

reasons to be a teacher? June, July, and August.”

Well, that’s funny, but you try being a TEACHER

for a month or two. Go ahead.


You get those crazy calls from parents in the middle

of the night complaining about Johnny’s grade.

Or the fact that most good teachers work 50-60 hours a week

and go back to school themselves in the summer without any

compensation or recognition.

But I pull on the mask, the stinkin’ mask,

with care and concern etched in even though

I might be having a bad day myself

or am hurt by the barbed comments.


Till there I am: at school with 120 students a day, most

who don’t care about English or even being at school.

But I teach some skills and we read and write some until

the next batch comes through. Big Deal.


You think when you are a TEACHER

There’s something big going to happen to you—some

recognition or appreciation.

Well, I tell you what. It doesn’t happen that way.

Nothing happens. Students attend class, I teach, another year

rolls by, like that over and over.


I think I will try something different. I think I will try

something exciting like being a guide up Kilimanjaro. Something to make

my heart beat at a different rate.

But then you just can’t quit being something like a


You are a TEACHER for life. Forever. I can’t even

destroy my mask. It won’t disintegrate. It’s waterproof.

So maybe that’s your problem too, who knows.

Maybe that’s the whole problem with everything.

Nobody can destroy their masks: they are all waterproof.

Who knows?