Board trustees tapped heirloom spoons against the graduates’
wet green skulls to get at the yolk. Academics, in chorus,
drilled and blew until we were bright and
airy, ready for democracy. Cheeks inflated like bubonic plague,
foreheads stretched like drumskin, rainbowed
like wounds, skin whining, funny helium voices.
I watched the best essayists of my generation float
over the Amazon rainforest and burning California
to drink the sun from the sky, bite and chew and beat its yellow,
so they came back to us rigged, rainless sierras.
Each time we fell to the ground like flies under an educative glass,
never realising: some skies have a limit, and this is ours.