At my priceless antique desk,
The desk of many Deans before me,
The desk I carved my initials into
(bottom left drawer, no one will ever know but me).
I wish the U.C. would explode.
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I wish these protesters would get a life.
I wish The Crimson would stop harassing me.
I will miss
Most
That feeling at the end of a day
Of being Dean
When I pack up my tote bag and
Walk out of University Hall into darkness,
Wai' for Joel, who drives the 5:15 shuttle bus
To the Quad.
The grumble bump bump
Of the engine
And obscene lyrics of a rap song--
A melodic recessional
Trumpeting a glorious night of slumber.