The Career of the Old Professor

THE OLD PROFESSOR

Each day he drags his scholar's armament
Along these limb-hung walks toward an old
Stone building, every ancient nerve intent
Upon the threadbare lecture he has told
Since time was wound. His faculties impaled
By blunting years of teaching: cured and nailed
To walls of hoarded knowledge none have seen
Him lately scale, he trudges to the clean,
Bland faces waiting in his daily void.
He owns but one idea that's pristine:
At least the old professor is employed.

That hour has long grown moss when discontent
Could nip his heels along the trails he's strolled
Spring, fall and winter. The ennoblement
Of education was a manna sold
For fodder: feasts too rich had been curtailed
Because his fresh young banquets all had staled,
Unsavored, on his desk. Now the routine
Is constant, undisturbed. And the cuisine
He offers is cold statement unalloyed
With sweetmeats that might activate the spleen.
At least the old professor is employed.

A poverty of mind seemed evident
Among his pupils: most were of a mold.
He'd searched in vain for signs of argument;
He'd flattered, bantered, battered and cajoled
When moons were blue. But nothing had availed.
Those freshman bastions could not be assailed.
His foes reclined behind their walls, serene.
They would not rally arms to fog the scene
With sorties into knowledge. Thus, devoid
Of wars, the warrior turned Nazarene -
At least the old professor is employed.

Oh, he'd unburied some intelligent
Young bodies then and now, but few were bold
Enough, and some were even reverent!
The best of these had thumbed and pigeonholed
His words for hoary use. He had regaled
No one with tales of beauties lying veiled
In halls of thought wherein a libertine
Of wisdom might disport himself unseen
And lip the cider Eve swore never cloyed.
Though none had truly broached his bright demesne,
At least the old professor is employed.

Then has his coin of manhood been misspent
Because he's been unable to uphold
Antique ideals to any fond extent?
And has the campus chapel belfry tolled
The streaming hordes of moments he's been gaoled
In mental pillories; been flayed and flailed
By apathy? Have all his sometime keen
Abilities been dulled, transformed to mean
Synaptic grooves? Can be become annoyed
No longer? Is he just a figurine...?
At least the old professor is employed.

l'envoi.
There lies an ancient harvesting machine
Deprived of acreage that once was green,
But withered now by hoarfrosts that destroyed
The twig that never nurtured nectarine.
At least the old professor is employed.