This is the poem I wrote in eight minutes.
It probably didn’t hit home as hard as I had hoped.
The stanzas are haggard and heavy,
but the lines are as hollow
as a hanging tree’s moral code.
The poem itself was swallowed
in the cesspool of modern scholarship
where the student ponders bad textbooks
and the teachers teach to a code.
“It’s all about the A to Z,”
is what the fedora-wearer said to me,
standing at the head of class
by his chalkboard learning scheme.
A will get you in the academy
and Z will zip you away
with a ten-thousand dollar piece of paper
and a square cap to put on display.
It’s too bad those two letters
can’t sandwich my life together
like the pieces of wonder bread
I ate on the way to school.
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