Epic Poem

In the beginning was the girl, and the girl was Lana. As she walked down the school corridor, her hair the kind of perfect that he usually only saw in the mirror, she shone like the sun, and just like the sun he couldn't help but be pulled into her orbit, his world revolving around her. Lana Lang took his breath away, as did her glowing green necklace.

"Come on, Clark," yelled Pete, dragging him toward his next class. "We'll be late for the lesson."

"Yeah, sure," said Clark, his mind still on Lana, as it was throughout the whole of the English class. All he noticed were the two words on the board - EPIC POEM - and those two words gave him an idea.

At the Kent Farm that evening, Clark was conspicuously absent from the dinner table; usually he was the first there waiting for the food to be served.

"Clark!" Martha yelled, and a split second later he was sitting in his usual chair.

"Sorry I'm late, Mom. It's a wonder my hand's not worn out."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "Been playing with your telescope again?" he asked, knowing that all innuendo was lost on his son, who might have looked too old for school, but still thought too young for Kindergarten.

"No, I've been writing a poem."

Martha and Jonathan stared at him.

"For school," Clark added.

"Well, I'm sure it's going to be great," said Martha, piling food onto his plate.

A big grin crossed Clark's features. "It's going to be better than great. It's going to be epic."

On the school bus, Pete and Chloe were snickering as Pete divulged why Clark hadn't been out lately.

"He's been writing an epic poem," explained Pete. "To Lana, who else?"

"Clark? A poet?"

"Well, he's been struggling, it was barely a haiku after his first night, then inspiration hit him."

"Hope it doesn't rhyme," Chloe said. "Lana, do you want a banana, or a sultana?"

"They both laughed, and were laughing still as the bus pulled up to the Kent Farm and Clark climbed aboard, carrying a big bundle of paper.

"So what's so funny?" Clark asked them, sitting down in the chair behind them and leaning over.

"Lana Lang," said Chloe, looking back at the mass of paper, "appears she's the girl of your reams."

"I guess Pete told you about the poem."

"Sure he did, it's comedy gold. Though it's also kind of sweet and romantic." Chloe sighed inside, remembering those poems she'd written but never sent to Clark, so hot they almost melted her hard drive. "Can I read it?"

"Sorry, but it's just for Lana. I'm going to sneak it into her locker."

"How about just a sample? Pretty please."

Clark paused, but then decided genius should be shared. "Okay, just the start... It goes Lana Lana Lana..." He paused again as he tried to remember those words from 853 pages back, then resumed, "Lana Lana Lana Lana Lana..."

Chloe laughed. "Let me guess, every word's 'Lana'."

Clark looked at her wounded, with his puppy dog eyes. "No, of course not. The last word's 'Lang'." And then he got all excited, again like a puppy dog. "Do you think she'll like it?"

Chloe wanted to be honest with her friend, but then she thought of Lana and she realized that she could be.

"Of course she will, Clark. Of course she will."

The End