My eyes twitch as they stare at the mug
From which breakfast till midnight I chug.
Oh yes, grad school is hell
If you want to do well,
For caffeine is a hell of a drug.
A student with sentiments jingle-ish
On language, brow furrowed and wrinkle-ish,
Declared, “I don’t care
How it’s done in Berber,
I’m studying how to teach English!”
As grad school approaches its end
I’ve learned well so little to spend.
They call me the shaman
Of pimping my ramen
So it doesn’t my taste buds offend.
I seek whiskey this weekend to quicken
What this wretched semester has stricken.
Having spent all my stipend,
I’m stuck at the tripe end—
Not Old Turkey but only Dead Chicken.
From all that I read before bed
Came a sharp blinding pain in my head.
But when asked to excuse me,
The professor refused me:
“Just give thanks, for it means you’re not dead.”
The TA’s Discussion Section Blues
With a hickory dickory dock
As I count all the frosh in my flock,
Many yawns must I smother
As I wish for another
Cuppa sugary chicory schlock.
