I’ve been at the library for weeks and months,
or maybe two hours.
I’ve bobbed up and down several times, up to check out two movies
(needed to write my paper on the cinematography of The Queen and Gandhi),
down again to write a paragraph, hammering at my thesis with bit-blunt nails
I would rather sink into this uncomfortable wooden chair
And watch Helen Mirren do her best
But instead I have to focus on the way the light bounces off her hair
and the reason why she stands behind the couch instead of sitting upon it with the rest of them.
Why should I suffer so, you wonder?
Folded into coat and scarf in the corner of the first floor?
For my GPA, of course.
And to graduate with Honors, and to get into grad school and to earn my masters and doctorate
and to eventually sit in a far more palatable chair, doling out papers such as these
to poor juniors who would rather