Wonderland once was underground. "I'm going
To survive the last day of classes, just barely,"Said Nancy Ross, LDS feminist and professor
Of Art History. "I've got four years, one month, and eleven
Days," growled Charles Cornwall, Academic Adviser.
"I'm thinking of my time left as my baccalaureate
In the art of retirement. A full four-year degree."
The pessimism was too much for the Associate Provost, checking
Her watch as she popped into the old Butchershop,
Well-coiffed and moving rapidly, despite recent brain surgery.
She wanted to discuss new things, the future of the university!
"Don't make me go back in there," she pleaded as she left.
Was it a goof that we all pretended busyness for mere nonsense
Or is nonsense quintessence of any busyness? You know.
It's all above ground, now. Chased to the park myself
For a few moments' pause, dodging the retired dog walkers
With their leashed shih tzus, poodles, mutts, and spaniels
Sniffing a reasonably cold morning under plane trees and palms,
Looking for a quiet hole to hide in, a magical escape, I thought
Maybe the White Rabbit, like Cold Mountain staring into the gorge,
Inviting any reader who wanted to join him in clouds,
Only wished to get away from the sunlit nonsense overhead,
To get home, to get well underground before he got caught.
"I'm going to survive the last day of classes," I thought,
"Just barely." But I was late. Late, late, late. Want to join me?
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