Going to Class with Little Bo

I met Little Bo
On my way to school
We thought that calling him little
Was very very cool
He was six feet four
And built out of muscle
When he went to the store
He never got hustled
He’d just been with the boys
Smoking some ganja
I could tell from his poise
That he’d mixed in some banana

He said,  “Bruh! Where you been?”
I said, ” I vanished into
A dimension in between
Where everything was two thirds
Even the queen”
He said, “Whoa! That’s awesome
We thought you were playing possum”

I then awed him
With my words
Filled to the brim
With fantastic vistas
And epic romances
Fights with lances
And Bollywood dances
Things I’d seen during my siestas
While on my prolonged absence

Herds of cars
And flocks of birds
Moved in the background
The traffic was absurd

We reached the school grounds
And nodded at the proper nouns
Making the proper sounds
I didn’t remember their names
Except this guy called Hound
“Hello! Hello! Long time
How are you?”
Ad nauseum
And then the climb
To our class room

We walked into class
Cultural studies
And sat at the last
Row with our buddies
Little Bo soon fell to sleep
While Foucault bored me
With all his theories
This was too deep
For me to understand
And also quite bland

A crazy heap of words
Made me count sheep
In order to join Bo
In zzz zzz land
If I didn’t fall asleep
I’d die of frustration
At the teacher’s crappy elucidation
I needed a vacation
From education
If Operation Foucault
Was part of the evaluation

I failed the paper
Two months later
And changed my major
To wrestling alligators
With Little Bo

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