Prompt   I don’t enjoy judging the words of others — okay, maybe I do. At least, that was the job, and in time I managed both the factions: those who argued that what mattered was the what, and those who loved the how. So: every fall we harvested the piles of booklets, the placement exams. Allowances were made for nonconforming styles, flashes of spirit. Me? I liked the sound of it: Chief Reader. I liked all the feathers and warpaint, presiding over counsels of matter versus manner . . . and whether we caught unicorns, who can decide? We wanted to be wise. God knows, we tried.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont May 2016