Little Fish, Little Fish

Little fish in a big pond
   more like a tadpole in a puddle,
pushed out into a desert
   the dryness of learning,
the parched emptiness of feeling

sticking out like a poor thumb,
in tight jeans and t-shirt…
what planet were you from?
Certainly not one in this system.

put onto the wrong track,
the uncertain grasped for a career
only to find nothing,
rejecting the first degree
six months spent being a number,
watching, lonely form-clutching forms
treading the waters of depression

no invitations to drinks,
only exhortations to think,
spending hours amongst pulped friends
   older versions of childhood companions
bestowing their difficult gifts.

giving wisdom to naivety,
culture added to vulgarity

panicking on moving stairways
nervously crossing the campus
anxiety constricting the airways,
hiding in the Library, leaving on the bus

working class intellectual
indgredients: a brain, an education,
just add reading and stir.

Faces to scan and remember,
names to say in passing
nodding in hallways,
shuffling through essays
   struggling through insecurity.

Then, touched by confidence,
uncertain steps were made
to a roomful of conversation,
where humour was appreciated
and lunch wasn’t eaten in isolation -
the journeys home weren’t so hated

finally, a piece of paper was attained,
making its declaration of education
and a mind rigorously trained
to file such papers neatly into drawers.

another year brought another paper,
more letters to forget,
more ceremony to avoid -
writing and reading, not preening

still hiding away pain, hiding smiles,
revealing only false intelligence,
another struggle for yet more letters
doctored to show learning…
the reality of yearning is hidden.