Self Indulgence

So I wrote a new poem this morning. I thought, hey, how self centered can you be Murphy, putting up some schlocky poem? Then I thought, hey it's my blog. I hope I didn't spell Moroni wrong. Clark, the demeanor line's for you.


Poem Written on the Back of an Observation Report

Well, the last snow of spring caused my eyes to blink, look up to the sky, and wonder
If this winter will ever end. Life’s a day at a time here in this place of snow-encrusted yellow flowers.
The academic achievements written down and collected to be examined and speculated upon.

It’s a strange time, this waiting to be tenured –
For what? A pay raise? Protection? From whom?
The student who doesn’t like my grading? My teaching? My demeanor?
I’ve never really kept my mouth shut anyway.

Once, in a land of bone dry, I prayed for rain – in my own way.
Hunkered down in a basement apartment, I dreamed of trees and moisture,
Found my way in a place so alien and austere, where Moroni’s horn cast
Its shadow from a salt lake northward to a desert high and tan.

Now I’m here where lakes cause an effect that can only be measured
In stanzas of grey and low light, where mornings I read under a broad spectrum of uv rays
Just to keep the day in check, where night is just a little darker than day some days.

In spring the trees come back hesitant, no wonder, in a place with so many false starts.
Marked by the rake that replaces the snow shovel, spring has its own tools waiting
For my opposable thumbs encased in work gloves.

The lawnmower waits in the shed alongside the weed whacker I can never start.
It’s all about tool usage – this life of chalk and dry-erase markers, the red pens
I never use on student papers, the new car that waits to take me to my office, where I:
plan the classes
grade the papers
make the phone calls
hire the teachers
send the emails
eat the pretzels
console the students
And sometimes give them the very bad news that while they were failing the class I was writing a poem about tenure and the spring that waits to come.