Editor’s Note: This article is purely satirical and fictitious. All attributions in this article are not genuine, and this story should be read in the context of pure entertainment only.

I.

On my morning bike ride
the eucalyptus released
its sweet aroma into the air
to ask me the questions of life
i do not know
where building 220 is.

II.

At the innocuous intersection
termed Circle of Death
two bicycles meet the way that
most things do
without signaling
and in the wrong direction.

III.

They warn us about ducks
that float but furiously paddle
so i set out to read for signs of fowl play
at the fountain: a sophomore
fully clothed; i do not ask
what is happening beneath.

IV.

Here we connect with
the invisible hand that drives
human civilization and
the arcane squiggles on the board
remind me that translation
is the first act of betrayal.

V.

Everyone says it is only the first week
as if seven days were not
the time it took to make the world
and then
        to rest
and then
        on Monday
                to drop a class.