Two Poems

Financial Aid

We tremble at
the thought our flaws
might be revealed,
which is the cause
of hoping that
our lips stay sealed

when bursars tempt
us to disclose
what we believe.
If we expose 
what’s up our sleeve
we’ll seem unkempt,

then they’ll demand
to see the ring
of grime around
our collar band
and make us sound
like anything

but worthy men.
We clamp our lips
and cling to hope
that once again
our scholarships
survive their soap.

 

In the Post-Antidepressant Era

I choose to live because I like the pain
of knowing I’ve endured another loss,
a state of mind not easy to explain

to people who believe there’s much to gain
from life.  It’s not as though I bear a cross:
I choose to live because I like the pain

that comes from watching dreams go down the drain,
a most effective nostrum for a cos-
tive state of mind.  Not easy to explain

to those who think I’m more or less insane
are reasons why I never try to gloss
my choice to live.  Because I like the pain,

I’m partial to the days of endless rain
when rolling stones are first to gather moss,
a state of mind not easy to explain.

As though to highlight portions of my brain
resembling over-processed applesauce,
I choose to live because I like the pain,
a state of mind not easy to explain.

—C. B.  Anderson, Maynard, MA

 

 

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