Freshman Year

[after Shel Silverstein’s “Sick”]

 http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/16480

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“I cannot really pinpoint why,”

Was my teenage son’s reply.

“I couldn’t sleep, the dorm was cold,

The food was bad; the sink had mold.

Hated English, can’t do math,

One roommate was a psychopath.

Had no money, had no job,

The other roommate was a slob.

The Ottomans were such a drag,

My Vampires teacher was a hag.

The girls were great, I’ll give you that;

They all set out the welcome mat.

I had some dates; I had some fun,

But didn’t meet that special one.

I broke my toe; I got the flu,

I never knew when things were due.

I missed my dogs; I missed my bed,

I faced each day with mounting dread.

The streets were scary; they were dark,

Bad things happened in the park.

I got behind; my work was late,

I worried lots; I lost some weight.

I played some Xbox, watched TV,

Read some novels, climbed a tree.

I drank some beer, I did some shots,

Sometimes I was seeing spots.

It was so hard, I—what?

What’s that you say?

I can’t go back?

You must be mad!

Most fun that I ever had!”