Deconstructionism 

in the english department, 

part 2

The scholars were all sitting in a circle

evenly spaced, like traffic cones 

around some repair work; I came in

and sat down, below them, to the side. 

I was there to defend a friend. I said, 
"I've read all his books, they made me 
- they still make me - want to get out of bed 
in the morning!" 

One of the cones, probably the department head 

of repair, looked down and to the side, 

where I was, and smiled at my enthusiasm;

I knew I wasn't getting anywhere. 

So, I said some more: 

"He was always doing his best, and even if he wasn't,
always, he was doing it anyway!" 

The head of the circle said, 

“At a certain time in his life, his work 

becomes flawed, uneven.” 

Then, the meeting was over; 

they all left but the department head. 

I gave him a dirty look. 

I said, “How’d you like to be flawed and uneven?” 

Then, I left. But I was serious. 

I could hear him messing around with his smart

phone, it was gurgling and goo-gooing as I 

went out of the room; but I was serious. 

Later, the mortician told the police
(I read this on the free Wi-Fi internet
at the Red Roof Inn, after the free coffee)
that the department head looked a little deconstructed
when they brought him in. The mortician 
must have been an english major, on the side. 

As for me, I'm driving fast away from the police, 

and I've got a UHaul full of those books! 



Or maybe this is all imagination. 
Either way, I got out of bed this morning,
if flawed and uneven. I don't really want 
to kill anyone. Or, me.