Lifer

Lifer

Being a student

everywhere impairs you

for a life

surrounded by graduates.

It declares you

to red pen stares        

as something                     

unfinished, perhaps

unfinishable.

Unfit or a slacker,

you haven’t mastered     

beyond thinking             

even the rudiments:        

Person, Place, Thing.     

Your wide-eyed            

fidgeting invokes

something terrible:

perpetual First Day.

What at six             

annoys or charms      

—the ardent frowns,

endless cross-outs and 

what-ifs—nearing  

sixty disconcerts          

or alarms. Alumni       

ask peevishly why        

you don’t just quit 

or hire a tutor      

but you know (having

learned this much) that

neither is the point

or could make it better.