January 17 by The Running Son
✍ Dead Poets Drill
You should have known this
Oh captain my captain?
Like Pavlov’s bell ringing, you hop on
that pressed wood contraption,
predating the seventies, creaking under
your cracking knees?
Seriously, I’m not laughing
but you should’ve known, I mean
really—it’s not physics after all.
It’s not math.
Not a homework handed back,
scribbles and dashes and
on the back of college ruled carpe diem—
or the attack of clarity needed
no matter how badly.
So you don’t need
posted weight limits lad, nor
must you remain seated.
However, at six hundred pounds, the point
must be conceded
that neither captain nor cave will save you
once your desk weight
by Jim Aldrich (:
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.