Local Poem Makes Good

This is last call. It strikes a trifling note over the veritable oaks in Cambridge's thought pattern. Yes, it rises into the clouds of John Harvard, who was class clown long before we knew of education's edge. The last call buys books for Widenor Library, then turns around, then turns around. The oaks blast new students and places their remains in the gulley behind Harvard Stadium. Rattlesnakes eat those remains, frantic for edifice. No one wants to stay in the pantry of this dormitory without the right conclusions rubbed in. Gateways open and more people pour forth. A bus explodes with genteel correction, it was only a part of the family. The rest of us walk around, circling even, because we want to be definite. Suddenly a cup of steaming perfect coffee exists. This will bring down the world of accents in several seconds or less. Furthermore, the cause wants to fall. And furthermore furthermore, a crush of humanity hopes to go home. Reasonable, like growing beans in the sidewalk, or recycling your doorknob. Last call cries out a surety window, where a lawyer becomes a crusty sparkle in time for the evening rush. The sun doesn't plan to set today, does it? Harvard's oaks are going to tumble soon, they can't keep up the joke. What is the joke, you might ask, suspicious of any assertion? Gunnels, gunsels, gunnysacks, whatever. The sentries on Harvard's walls pick out random problems to solve. When they shoot, all is forgiven. Discussion falls, crumbs react to pigeons, sandals cover soles of secure feet, and we're still in Harvard Square. Become more local, you doctor you. Arrive at physics, perhaps, or the mathematical equivalent of saying something. Trust the dog that curls up in time, because days are never off here. You were blown in from the west, perhaps, like I was. Standard cafe parlance lifts a glass, or busted toke survives for few. Every cram of crowd seizes initiative in the instant that day begins. Day isn't over ever, so we freshen any way we can. Sample Mass Ave as a route forever. Elevate the subway to new terms, Boston is near. Struggle with riches or poorness, in the excellent reproof from above. John Harvard sits on a throne, up on things, a porch for pigeons. We're students in cause, suffering effect. Come, greet the new pig while you can, it has seven ways to say nothing. Bright for one moment, it heard the last call.