Thursday, February 5, 2015

Global Warming.

It was in the sixties today.
It's February.

All day at work,
I ran across campus
from here to there.

I went on an adventure
to the new Classroom Building.
I felt the air
become humid
as soon as I crossed
into the breezeway
that would take me there.

I soon became disillusioned
as I poked around,
and then when I consulted a wall map,
my fears were confirmed.
There are only five or six classrooms
per floor
in this giant,
multi-million dollar
brand new
the Classroom Building.

Who designed all this
pomp and circumstance?
And who signed off
on these awful plans?

As I went back to my office,
I noticed,
on every side,
into ear canals.

And I thought,
My stars,
we're living in
Fahrenheit 451.
Seashell thimble radios

And then life looked grim.
Everything seemed like
and excess
and cheapness.

But before I could lament too long,
it was time to go home.

I pushed open the doors
and entered the warm afternoon.
Students were pouring out
of every nearby door.

The parking lot
was a mess of cars
trying to zoom away from school
as fast as possible.

You could feel it
in the sixty-degree February air,
the collective sigh of relief
of people going home for the day.

Going home
in the earliest
and eeriest
and most dazzling
of an unexpected spring.

I put down the windows.
I got on the highway.
I turned on my
non-thimble radio.

And in a moment,
all my idealistic disappointment
was swallowed up
into the air
and into the radio waves.

Because somehow,
the beautiful weather
was making bad songs good,
and mediocre songs wonderful.

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