Forty-Sixth Entry

Hello hello hello.

It is my considered opinion that the winter is for all intents and purposes over. It is also my conisdered opinion that my roommate ate the rest of pizza last night without asking. For this he should only drop dead.

My dad is writing poetry, in case I haven't mentioned this. I think he's poised to be very good, he has a lot of life experience and, unlike most poet's I know, he isn't fumbling through being a younger artist with their head up their ass. Kudos to you, pops, keep up the good work.

Everybody seems to be talking about this Legitimate Dangers collection. I wish someone had told me about it. I know a handful of these writers personally and they are pretty great and, I suppose, could be considered the 'new young generation' or whatever. But really they are all pretty well established poets with a good start on their careers so I don't see how they're rebellious, but maybe I'm missing the point. I'll be picking up the collection because there's doubtless some good poetry in there. But it IS a rather pretentious title.

Here's my poem:

ADVANCED DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS

All the advanced dungeons are in the advanced class.
I write about parabolas on the overhead projector
and the dungeons stare at me, clinking their chains,
when I ask one of them to solve the proof,
they slam their heavy gates shut, trapping me
as I grab for my velveteen bag of die.

I allow the dragons to light their own Bunsen burners
and they burn the school down, every child's fantasy,
and the dragons are filed outside to stand and watch
it burn, while the dungeons fool around with their graphing calculators,
and I lean into the flame like I was peeking in an oven,

singeing my hair off and reddening my peeling skin,
I spent so many hours sitting at those desks,
and having my locker slammed closed with a metallic boom
and opening it back up every time, it must have felt like hell
and I want to walk inside and burn and open it up again.