Constantly Risking Absurdity

Go ahead, laugh as I walk the tight rope.











To the Class of 2005

(with nods to Billy Collins, e.e. cummings, and Lewis Carroll)

When the last bell sounds, do not rush out.
Instead, one last time, with deliberate concentration,
Bend your knees and
leap as high as your heart can take you,
grasping with outstretched hands
To snatch one last wisp of your youth
Before it floats off into the ether.
(Yes, that very same youth you're now so eager
To suffocate facedown in the sand or drown in a cesspool of margaritas).

When you grab it, break off a piece before it vaporizes.
Smuggle it home in your pocket.
Hide it in the deepest part of your closet
Over college,
Over careers,
Over marriage,
Over children.
Over practicality.
Then, when you're really sure that it's probably safe to touch it again--
Enter your closet, carefully, with a lantern and a form-fitting biohazard suit--
(on second thought, send in a canary first and see if it suffocates from the stench of death before you take a chance) to rescue it for a brief reincarnation
Before you die of boredom at the ripe age of 50.

(I'm hiding and teaching in these parentheses childishly hoping that someone sees my irony)


What I really meant to say was that
After you smuggle it home in your pocket—mold it into a coin or into a credit card or better yet a business card or a key (it is very easy to do this it just takes imagination and the will not skill not anything learned)
It is now disguised so that you can carry it around whenever you need it—
When will you need it?
Let's just say that if you go through all of this trouble
(speaking figuratively because it's no trouble to will something)
Then I got a feeling you'll know when.
Ok, I'll give you one for-instance, then you're on your own . . . .
Like when you're at a dinner party (yes, you'll go to those)
And some neverfriendly will insult your politics, religion, or family
And you'll feel utterly defenseless in your dinner jacket

Until you remember . . . inside your pocket is that magically molded key (my favorite disguise),
You can reach in, unsheathe, brandish your handy youth like a swashbuckler,
And then courageously "spit in his eye" (figuratively, anything else would be too adult).

Defeated, the blinded bully falls, crying real tears and wiping saliva from his cheeks,
And to deafening applause Rocky Balboa raises your hand in triumph,
Dylan pours you a long draught from the Fountain of Youth into a loving cup,
And Julia Roberts asks you to be her Prince Charming.

Before you depart, snatch
One wisp of your youth before it floats off into the ether.