Adventures

Liza Bandy

—oh,

The South had a jewel of a school to its name

A champion of Nature was She

And all the environment’s stewardship

Was Her gallant and amiable dream.

—except,

In the quarters Her students sought sleep;

For some terrible plague befell

That hall called Johnson, sweet hostess of deep

And sisterly harmony. Which soon became hell.

Woe to ye pupils! If only an angel

Had swept up your souls in its wings

(Or had Facilities Management followed

The EPA standards for things).

Woe!

Thou first-year, take thy flight!

But nay, they arrived that dismal night

And strung up their photos with buoyant hearts,

Dressed up their dwellings with sweet faery lights.

Alas!

A creeping suspicion began

In the stony corridors through which they ran

That some fungal miscreant had reared its head

And slipped into their new-made beds!

“O, merciful Sewanee, hear!—”

A cry rings out; a rush of pleas

To purge the University:

“The common-room smells like cheese!”

But woe! I cry, for nothing less

Than institutional incompetence

Did meet these sorry scholars! Why

Must She for her own flock provide?

As August carried its days into autumn,

The air grew sick, in dire fate!

The chambers reeked with mold forgotten

By all the dukes of our Domain!

But then, the great tides of destiny

Did meet its happy accomplice! O,

The girls were felled in that foul residency

And sent to the nearest hospitals.

O, Mother of Honor and Erudition!

Birthplace of Southern Scholasticism!

Thy code has sorely fallen flat

So as to cover up Thine Ass.