The words still tick off linoleum squares
where neophytes gone to “Sir” and “Ms.”
retrace gauntlets of university hallways
in search of adolescent voices
promising to right the world
Gone the voices of the others,
gone to courtrooms and board rooms,
to operating rooms and war rooms,
gone the chalky blackboard formulas
they were taught to follow,
gone before they learned
the heavy doors of their alma maters
would slam shut behind them
Here where physics now makes sense,
where the shades and shapes of botany
slide into the sap of autumnal regrets,
where biology under a microscope
expands across bathroom mirrors,
the voices of dapper doctors of the humanities
in tweed sports coats and Picasso ties
still shout out of the classrooms of their youth:
“Come on in then
Take your seats
The bell has rung!”