Our professors scolded us,

the spoon-fed generation,

to speak out,

question everything,

carve new paths through

the streets of the city


So we did, and the police

sprayed us with tear gas,

broke our heads with nightsticks

We smashed windows, set fires,

slept under trees in the park,

went to jail or Canada

Some returned in body bags

from Vietnam


When we were finished

ten years had gone by

and we only had degrees

in protesting the system


We asked our professors

what kind of deal was that?

They got angry, slammed

their office doors in our faces,

called security


They had families to support,

reputations to protect

Go quietly, they ordered,

and keep your wise ass comments

to yourself