Half past six, our alarm screams out
My spouse lays out my jacket and tie
Rush hour, gridlock, stops and starts
My daily commute, a chance to die
Who needs this?
I scan yellowed notes, get primed for class
One hundred deadpan undergrad faces
My deepest fear, they’ll find me boring
No way I can gain the crowd’s good graces
I feel a migraine coming on
Tuna salad, I lunch at my desk
Then off to the weekly faculty meeting
We pick at the rules for the umpteenth time
Searching for an answer to stop student cheating
Beating a dead horse
I meet with a grad student about her thesis
No way I can think of a workable topic
Failing to give even subpar advice
I fear that my brain is becoming myopic
Anxiety and shame, doldrums
Back to my office, an hour of my own
I work on an obtuse research paper
The findings are bland, the conclusions obscure
Time ill-spent on a dead-end caper
What is the point exactly?
Postscript (Twelve years later, here and now)
My biggest worry when I retired
How will I ever survive without work?
It took two days to make my transition
Surprise, surprise, I’m no longer berserk
Life is gentle, life is kind
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