Wednesday Afternoon[1]
Complacencies of flip flops, and late
Lattes on a sunny quad,
And the green freedom of a bonus day
Upon a rug mingle to elutriate
The holy bliss of summer dress.
He kills some time, and he pities well
Encroachment of that dread influenza,
When visions are dancing water-light.
The sultry oranges and bright, pink wings
Versus some procession of the dead,
Where each day’s like twenty, with joy drowned.
Laughter rings ‘cross campus, with abound,
Gild the passing of their teeming feet.
Back at home, a silent sanatorium,
Dominion of snus, snot, and some culture.
[1] With apologies to Wallace Stevens (“Sunday Morning” 11-12) and Dr. Elias Schwieler.
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