Typing in My Dorm on a Blurry Morning
(With apologies to Robert Frost.)
Whose words these are I think I know.
His essay's on the web, although
He will not mind me typing here
To fill my paper up with snow.
My roommate now must think it queer
To watch me type without a beer
Or joint or shot or Adderall--
The longest evening of the year.
I give my work one final look
To make sure that it's "by the book."
But then I see one small mistake--
Or maybe five. Oh, what the fuck.
My paper's deadline's almost here.
I hope I get a C, or near.
And now I think I'll have that beer.
Yes, now I'm ready for that beer.