Snow In The End.

There is snow out there.

My wife and dog have returned
from a morning walk through it.

I'm poised at the machine,
marking the last of my students.

Does Calypso get the bump to B,
or does she get the C she earned.

It's really just a keystroke.
I know she wouldn't complain
if she got the B.
Could I sleep at night if I did it?

On the TV the weather man is frantic.

Blizzard conditions possible.
We must all be alert.

My alertness has ended.
Once these grades are in,
I'm going to vegetate -
in the manner.

I will sit out on the porch,
rocking in a wooden chair,
which I built.
(Who says proffies can't do anything?)

It's my right as a man of leisure,
taking my month long vacation from school.

My neighbor Russell makes fun of me,
all my time off.

I like him to see me sipping coffee
at 11 am.

All done, I holler to him when I see him.
Just going to relax until late January.

It eats at him.

But I feel a bit of an ache.
Semester end.
The snow falling.
The grades tumbling down.

My throat scratches.
My lungs wheeze.
Oldness disease my little niece has called it.

Am I sick? Or is it just my head telling me.
My body trying to shut down to assure
a rest over my break.

I've spent many school holidays in bed,
ravaged by fevers, coughs, spells.

Then revival. Then health.
I'm one of those who avoids the doctors.
They and their coats, so smart, in both connotations.

But I know what this feeling is.
Semester end. Year end. Snow coming to blot it all.

I must cough and wheeze and blow my nose,
taunt Russell. Pat the dog's head.

Eat eggs and bacon and sleep on the couch
under my wife's great aunt's horrible blanket.

And Calypso will get the grade she deserves.