This Be The Worse: An Anarcho-Poem.
The greater part of what my neighbors call good I believe in my soul to be bad, and if I repent of anything, it is very likely to be my good behavior. What demon possessed me that I behaved so well? (H.D. Thoreau, Walden I, “Economy”)
With Apologies to Philip Larkin, and Malice toward Some.
THIS BE THE WORSE
They fuck you up, your Chair and your Dean.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They screw you for their faults and spleen
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in leather-patched tweed coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Colleagues hand on misery, whether woman or man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out of professional philosophy as early as you can,
And don’t have any colleagues yourself.
Mr Nemo, W, X, Y, and Z, Monday 24 April 2017.