A Poem in the Style of Mister Dr. Seuss
At St. Mary’s College,
Where the grickle grass grows,
at Historic St. Mary’s, where nobody goes,
‘Cause what grickle grass is, nobody quite knows
But they’re very certain its bad for you.
Well, deep in the grickle grass, toxic and sour,
The St. Mary’s students are anxious and dour
Because finals are coming,
And finals suck butt,
And that last line didn’t rhyme because it’s my poem, damn it.
What are finals?
And why are they near?
Friend, if you’re asking me than you shouldn’t be here
At St. Mary’s College where the honors kids go.
Did you ask your Profess-lers?
Ask them, they should know.
You won’t see the Profess-ler,
Don’t knock on their door.
You missed office hours.
You’re in trouble for sure.
So lurk up to their classroom on the very third floor.
And interrupt classes that deserve their time more.
And once in the classroom, to ensure you don’t fail,
Hand the Profess-ler fifteen cents and a nail,
And the shell of a great-great-great grandfather snail.
Then they puts what you’ve paid in their Trasha-ma-can,
Their secret, strange hole
By their…grubberful…gran? (This is so much harder than it looks)
Then they’ll grunt “I will reach you by Electronic Mail.
I’ll spare no time for creeps who just hand me a snail.”
So you’ll wait in the Grind with your laptop laptopping,
Taking smoothie breaks often, though there’s no time for stopping,
Wondering how you were dumb enough to let your grades go
For the fourth semester in a row.
Maybe you could make a living testing products for dough.
Like those pills that make you grow a new mouth on your toe.
Then the Profess-ler will mail you at last,
And say “I haven’t seen you in class in the past.”
And you’ll think up a lie and you’ll think it up fast,
About commitments and illness and a full body cast.
Now, the Profess-ler won’t believe a word that you’ve said.
And say “I know what’s been going on in your head.”
“You waited to study…
You waited ‘til Spring…
Then you wanted to chill while the trees were still green
While St. John’s was still wet, and the Point was still clean.
While the song of the mute swans still sang out in space,
And the Invasive Species Watch was still giving chase.
So you sat on your butt and then filled all your time,
With Boh Hunts and World Carnival. Hey, it wasn’t a crime!
You even somehow found time to play HVZ,
While headbands were dropping, your grade dropped to a D.
And now, only now, have you come to my door
To ask me just what this last test is for.
Alright. I will tell you just what is in store…
These are your finals!
They speak to your knowledge
Of the various subjects you’re learning in college!
They count very highly,
And for good reason.
It tells us the sum of your work this last season.
It speaks of time management and memorization,
It speaks of your thoughtfulness and organization.
It speaks to the effort you put in the task,
Of understanding something outside of the class.
So not one more word. No, not one more glance,
And sign off before I throw you off by the seat of your pants.”
And off you will go, left to your mess.
With no choice but to fail your finals…UNLESS
Whatever it is you must do, can you guess?
No, not that.
Um, not that either. Ok, one more try.
I…really? Anybody? No one? Fine, whatever. I’ll tell you.
YOU MUST CRAM!
You must cram, you must cram!
Am I sure? Yes, I am!
You must jam in and ram in all of the stuff that you can!
You must fill up your days with flashcards and reading.
And your nights with forgetting things like showering and eating.
This, my dear friends, is your last chance to pass.
To really get something good out of your class.
Be wary my friends, don’t let yourself crack.
Be smart, and next year your might get to come back.
Unless you’re graduating and you have to get a job
Which is just a whole new level of pressure because
Your parents say you have to pay rent now and your
Girlfriend’s going to be pissed if you end up back at
Dairy Queen because it’s in the mall and so she knows
You’re going to end up blowing all your money at Panda
Express and even if you’re not graduating this all seems
To be becoming a fast approaching reality and AAAHHH I CAN’T
(Delia will be taking a brief sabbatical while she attempts to calm down before junior year. See you in August, folks!)