Fourth Period, P.E.

a poem by D.X. Liu
Based on "The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe

Once upon a midday dreary, while I pondered, dull and listlessly,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of educational lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my right shoulder.
“ ‘Tis some classmate,” I muttered, “tapping at my right shoulder—
Only this, and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the heat of late August,
And each separate dying soul wrought its heart upon the floor,
Eagerly I wished the sound—vainly I had frowned
On my books filled with ennui—ennui from the still present Loiter—
For the slow and tedious action which Coach Brown stated Loiter—
Always here for evermore

And the cottony, sad, uncertain rustling of each persons’ clothing
Irritated me—exasperated me with fantastic dullness never felt before;
So that now, to start the beating of my heart, I sat repeating
“ ‘Tis some classmate entreating conversation at my right shoulder—
Some tired classmate entreating conversation at my right shoulder—
This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact that I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my right shoulder,
That I scarce was sure I felt you”—here I turned, head to shoulder
Sony there, and nothing more.

Deep into that CD-player peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no stranger ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and Johnny gave no token,
And the only phrases ever spoken were the whispered ones, “Can I listen? I’m bored!”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words, “Forget it, chump, I am bored!”
All of this, but nothing more.

Then back to my backpack turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon I felt again a tapping somewhat stronger than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my left shoulder;
Let my heart jump-start a moment and this mystery explore—
‘Tis Johnny, and nothing more!”

Turn around I flung my shoulder, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
Next to me there sat stately Caitlin of the good ol' days in '94;
Not the least obeisance made she; not an instant stopped or stayed she;
But, with vanity of lord or lady, sitting next to my left shoulder—
Perched upon a plastic bleacher just right next to my left shoulder—
Perched and sat, and nothing more.

Then this beauty bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance she wore,
“Though thy crest be low and tedium, thou,” I said, “art sure not bored,
Ghastly grim and dulled-out Caitlin wandering from the gymnasium floor—
Tell me what that Mrs. Crook assigned for homework long ago!”
Quoteth Caitlin, “What a bore.”

Much I marveled this little flower to hear discourse so plainly,
For its answer plentiful meaning—much relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no sublunary being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing girl next to his left shoulder—
Girl or boy upon the trash filled stands next to his left shoulder,
With such response as “What a bore.”

But Caitlin, sitting lonely on the placid stands, spoke only
Those three words, as if her soul in those three words she did outpour.
Nothing farther then she uttered—not a hair then she fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown before—
On the bell I will leave this, as my hopes have flown before.”
Quoteth Caitlin, “What a bore.”

Wondering at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what she utters is her only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy teacher whom unmerciful Malaise
Followed fast and followed faster—so, when Fun she would adjure
Stern Humdrum returned, instead of the sweet Fun she dared adjure—
That sad answer, “What a bore!”

But Caitlin still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a loaded backpack away from girl, seat, and shoulder;
Then upon the bleachers sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous girl of yore—
What this doldrum, dull, dreary, weary, and ominous girl of yore
Meant in croaking, “What a bore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the flower whose monotonous eyes now bored into my brain’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the hardness of the bleachers that the sunlight never washed o’er,
But whose bleachers that the sunlight never washed o’er,
It shall press, ah, what a bore!
Then methought, the air grew sweeter, perfumed from an unseen wrapper
Swung by others whose faint teeth-chewing tinkled on the hardwood floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these others he hath sent thee
Starburst—Starburst and Skittles from thy memories of Candy Store!
Let me quaff this kind Skittle and forget this horrible Snore!”
Quoteth Caitlin, “What a bore.”

“Pessimist!” said I, “thing of evil! —pessimist still if girl or boy!—
Whether the Principal sent, or whether a Teacher tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this boredom land enchanted—
On this gym of Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there hope in Plano?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoteth Caitlin, “What a bore.”

“Pessimist!” said I, “thing of evil! —pessimist still if girl or boy!—
By that Heaven bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with boredom laden if, within the distant state of Texas,
It shall end a tedious waiting whom Coach Brown named Loiter—
End a never-ending waiting whom Coach Brown named Loiter.”
Quoteth Caitlin, “What a bore.”

“Be those words our sign of parting, girl or boy!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the left side of the stands and the homework due before!
Leave no denim thread as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my dreariness unbroken! —quit the seat next my left shoulder!
Take thy breath from out my brain, and take thy form away from shoulder!”
Quoteth Caitlin, “What a bore.”

And Caitlin, never flinching, never flirting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the plastic stands of Gymnasium just next to my left shoulder;
And her eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,
And the gym lights o’er her streaming throws her shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that gym that lies adjacent to the school
Shall be bored—until the bell!