Friday, September 3, 2010

What I think about whilst doing my "real" job

Come sleep, my kitten, here upon my lap
Your purring softly rattles like warm rain
I'll rub your belly while I grade this crap
Your love's the last resort that keeps me sane

My students fail at every nuance taught
Their sentences lack vital parts of speech
And so, sweet kitten, stay here in this spot
I'll daydream of what you'd be like to teach

You'd raise your little paw (to bat at thread)
You'd ask good questions — "When is lunch today?"
I'll pat you gently on your fuzzy head
In grasping tough ideas (or rather, prey)

I'd trade my students just to serve my cat
If only they'd give tenure out for that

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