The Tell-tale Shirt

TRUE! — excited — very, very dreadfully excited I have been and am; but why will  you say that I am mad? Wearing the shirt always stimulated my senses — not destroyed — not dulled them. Above all was the sense of fashion acute.

I became aware of outfits on both faculty and students. I saw many that looked like hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! And observe how healthily — how calmly — I tell you whole story. It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was one. Passion there was some.

I loved the idea of superiority. The students had often wronged us. They forever gave us insult. For their fragments I had no desire. I think it was the Ranging! Yes, it was this! One of the rewards of Ranging was that moment of discovery — of casting an eye like that of a vulture — a pale blue eye with a film over it.  Whenever the rhetoric faltered, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees — very gradually — I made up my mind to wear the shirt every last Friday of the month and thus rid myself of abominable prose forever.

Would that YOU could be so fortunate… Now if you’ll just step into my office after giving Dawn her dollar, I have a lovely amontillado chilling in my lunch sack…

Poe taste

It was many and many a year ago
         On a campus ‘neath the sun,
That a department there lived whom you may know,
         Filled with crazy sons of a gun.
And its employees they lived with no other thought
         Than to wear certain shirts to avoid being shunned.

We were the teachers and they were the kids
        On this campus ‘neath the sun,
And we ranged with a rhetoric than was less than intelligible;
         We sure had the kids on the run.
As in the comp courses the shirted seraphs graded,
         Whilst lacking a clear sense of fun.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
         On this campus ‘neath the sun
The call for a dollar came out of the blue, chilling
        The lecturing ones.
So that the executive secretary came
        Collecting up the mon,
To  store it away in the scholarship fund
         On this campus ‘neath the sun.

The rest of the college, not half so happy in their sad clothes
         Went envying us every one –
Yes! – that was the reason (as all men know,
         On this campus under the sun)
That the red GCC shirts came out of marketing,
         Chilling, not thrilling, those that were second to none.

(This is SO painful! I’ll bet you’re glad it’s almost over!
Still, I am working on Gershwin for Christmas….)

But our wills were stronger by far than the snickers
         Of those who were chintzier than we -
         Of many less spirited than we -
And neither the board in Tempe so far
        Nor the security patrollers so close
Could ever dissever our souls from our shirts
        When the wearing day did come.

“To compose is to live”; it’s our sword and our shield
         On this campus ‘neath the sun
And the T shirt Day never comes but I feel I must yield
         On this campus ’neath the sun.
And so all the night earlier, I get out the Tide
For the washer - and the Bounce to help dry
         The shirt I must wear as a truly Chosen One
         On the campus ‘neath the sun.