Atop my office chair sits a rolling scholar —
whose lips immaculate this, a modest dollar.
For here to spend words divine,
but to waste prose, a crime,
at least when confronted by the Dean of Admissions.
Buried underneath us trodden sods —
of a small university — lay ample reason
to ward off diversity, if but to make merry
with the hopeful and published.
Thus here we sit,
where thought is, to wit,
a chair, an office, a throne:
To oversee the departed, the rejected-outsmarted,
and philosophize a bit o’er their bones.
Some scholarly humor as we approach the new year and the MLA conference in Seattle. With no untoward intent toward the venerable Mr. Northrop Frye – his caricature c/o an old acquaintance, Van Howell.