Ode to the students of no joy (or anything near happiness—a thing every human should value above prestige, which is a fleeting beacon of false security)
A legitimate concern.
The topic is often just funny
For me
(Aka: the most important thing).
But this week I’ve decided
To grow up
A bit
And riff on a subject
I’m less comfortable with.
Me, well, I’m not the type
Who’s the first to brag
(Don’t worry this piece
Is not
An ego-fueled Magnum Rant.)
It’s more-so a visceral peek inside
The process
I have
Developed for keeping
A leg-up on college life.
See, each semester, this time,
Midterms roll around
And sharply remind me
That I
Don’t give a shit about them.
When engulfing these words
A first thought might be,
“This kid’s a student?
’Da hell
He get into university?”
Plz, plebes, calm down—
No need to be rash.
Our systemically learnt
Brains
Can’t handle a crash.
(That silly rhyme right above—
‘Sh’ with ‘sh’—
Is just
The sort of thing
OF WHICH WE NEED LESS!!!!)
Whenever I catch myself
Crossing my legs, worrying,
About something so banal
As a
Multiple-choice inquiry,
I step back, take a walk outside,
Because there
A test
Is lost in the ambience
Of starless, tan city nights.
There’s this appetite I have
To learn lots of things.
But, philosophical understanding
In school
Is simply getting good grades,
Which is a tragic idea, really,
At the end of the day.
Do you
Remember conversations with
Freshman-year TAs?
Not I—I can’t recall names
Of professors or classmates
From a semester ago,
Much less
The specifics of Henry Thoreau.
So this exam season, don’t
Pee yourself from fear
Dreaming
Of losing that precious 3.579.
You have time. You have time.
And if your parents call asking
About your current grades
Tell them, “It’s all good,
Ma, Pa.”
It’s still not too late.
Were you touched by Andy’s poetry about midterms? Share your feelings with him at andy@holsteens.com.
