The tutor scuffs his heels,
dawdling like a child
around the room,
languidly puts forth
a string of platitudes,
hands clasped, lips pursed.
Without a break in step
he lunges across the floor
like a fencing marionette,
stutters out a question
like an evil movie villain,
one quivering finger held
in some poor sop's face;
"How did you like the play?"
The written one or the one
he's just put on?
Behind his armpit beard
and black rimmed glasses
his silent chortle shows
he loves his audience,
the humble drama
of provoking students,
who'll always answer
his vague interrogations
whether or not they
make any sense.
"What do we say
when we say
this is a play?"
Academia's a sickness.
After prolonged exposure,
the brain begins to digest
itself. Impossible to live
and be so self-reflexive.
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- owen lucas
- is a Graduate Assistant at Fairfield University Writing Center. This blog is a resource for Writing Center staff, based on his work with Fairfield's School of Nursing.
1 comment:
Brilliant - I think every university has a troupe of fencing marionettes. I suppose they're cunningly employed by the English department as a sort of sub text for students to analyse when the actual work isn't interesting enough.
Although is 'platitutes' a very clever secret pun, or a typo?
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