Because I was pretty much in a coma at the end of last semester, this semester's end-of-the-semester poem will be for the whole year. So here it is, now that I've finally gotten around to finishing it:
My head aches and a drowsy numbness pains
my sense as though of Cherry Coke I had run out,
for all semester long, they’ve cluttered up my brains
with stuff I do not give a flying fig about.
My Hamlet midterm paper got full credit-
the fourth time that on Hamlet I have had to write,
and got four As, although I’ve never read it-
an A for seven pages scribbled overnight.
I’d several profs who filled me up with dread,
like boring Dr. C. who talks and talks and talks,
but never has a single thing he said,
or Dr. H., who always wore surrealist socks.
Another prof was flaunting smut as true art,
another had me climbing countless steps, enough
to get to the Fifth Floor to see Ms. Laws,
where reason plays no part and rhyme does not come through.
Some things to me will still remain a mystery,
like what the heck is rhetoric, and what’s it for?
And why those groupies so obsessed with history
take every class that’s offered by Ms. R., that bore.
F. Scott Fitzgerald somehow has to do
with old dead English monarchs of the Stuart line,
with feminists from African lands too,
and any other topic that they could assign.
To all my teachers who looked at my fun askance,
I have one final parting thought: Underpants!
