Life Story XII

Graduated college. Now what to do?

walk on campus (not a state poem but a rest stop for a snack)

The carbon cycle includes
converting CO2 to
oxygen through
photosynthesis
via plants.

naked
trees leave
the unrecycled
air cool & stale
with the scent of cheeseburgers.

for the sake of continuity, this could count as PA--a poem called: The Student Union

The fountain in the Alumni Plaza is
shut off. Its faux-riverbed dry.
All the pennies have been scooped out,
wishes spent.

Six sickly trees have given their all to fall
& trampled
dusty remains
gather in the fountain’s base.

The only rumble now is passing traffic,
& the shuffle of students steps on
a mud line cut through dying grass,
always rushing five minutes before, or after class in

shields of iPod interference--sound tracked
bubbles--& cell phones stringing invisible
electric laundry lines for all to hear:
(insert cliché here)

The students stacked in trailers
behind Lytle Hall will soon move
to the academic forum; a giant glowing
17 million dollar fishbowl filled with

goldfish eyes in 200 seat amphitheaters,
the teachers
will never have to
learn my name again.

The dry recycled air echoes
recycled ideas pounded into
five paragraph containers
reused in the library, wasted computer printout

pages, all grades
the same--one
pen stroke pass
or fail--like
finding a parking space

five minutes before class.
We are (the new) Penn State
repackaged in another field, in
another ground broken ceremony

high-rise honeycombed dorms,
where a single room is now a triple
in a numbers game of how many students
can we jam in one place, for one price

& still get away with it. Better yet--
put a food court in the forum so
they can buy Freedom fries. Please just
keep the Republicans away from bake sales.

The turned up corn fields give again--
the illusion of space--like
the fairgrounds on a weekend,
& diversity is half the population

taking a bus back to the city,
taking a truck back to the country.
Monday thru Friday we walk in streams but
never pool into a student union,

it’s just myspace now, faux
facebooked friends & waiting
for the season to slide by,
a fountain filled again.

SecondNight

the cardboard is packed
(not stacked or absorbing the sounds
of a television
downstairs.)

so this is what my
computer is like.

it took two hours
of looking at all labels
(no meat &
the cheapest goods)
to save twenty-four
dollars.

tomorrow maybe
a haircut.

tea for two to start
the day (waking up
to dick
who came to remove
the hot tub.)

green walls no longer
blue

i can go to bed with
the Gilmore girls
& a bed stuffed
with animals.

(comments included with
placement of TV.)

conversations
across
the room.
half in computer,
half spoken.

we can forge
a new family
in the space between.