The
day before D-Day was like a weight,
A
hundred pounds pressing downward, two tons
For
each platoon of infantry. A crate
Of
books weighs less, two stones perhaps, and sons
Won't
die from lifting books. Time is fleeting
When
times are out of joint. But clocks spin
slow
In
the tediousness of peace. Meeting
A
deadline is not like meeting a foe,
And
a classroom is not a trench. We fight
A quieter
fight now, paper battle
To
stem the tide of ignorance, the night
Of civilization's
last death rattle.
"Oh,
get over yourself," your wife will say.
"The
first day of class is not like D-Day."
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