I’ve never had a professor who was willing to search for booze during class. But sometimes it was a close thing.
This classroom has become a home,
A temporary measure over the summer but now
My bed between two desks is too
Comfortable to leave, my things
Strewn across the floor, making it mine.
But today is the first day of classes,
And, checking the schedule, I haven’t
Read any of the material to prep, and don’t
Know where or when I’m going. Luckily,
I’m going nowhere – My class comes to me,
Filing in and sitting at desks I’ve used
For sofas and kitchen tables and stairs.
My friends joke with me about the mess
I haven’t cleaned, but the instructor
Doesn’t seem to notice, and we spend
Most of the time searching for
A specific kind of blue raspberry booze
That I know I kept here somewhere.