Poems by D.W. Walker

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Final Cut

It is a year now since that final budget cut
That turned Fellows into freelances, credibility palm up,
Lecturers into buskers,
Library books into papier mache trees,
And computers back to beach sand.

That day the Indispensibles convened their last stand,
Vice-chancellors, Full, Deputy and Pro,
Directors, Deans and Registrars,
Million dollar salaries capped forever,
Their war cry echoing across empty ovals
We are the University, and the University is Us
As starvation crawled along carpeted halls.

The rats now run a larger maze,
Visiting eyeless cats and brainless apes denied even tabular fame,
Digesting Council minutes and course rules,
Contemplating the question:
If a magpie swoops when no rat is around
Does its beak make any sound?

Fibro proves its durability, Heritage listed,
As brick and stone teleport to suburban block and city building site.
Accelerator towers crumble, yet remain,
Glowing faintly for a planetary lifetime.

Alumni, briefly organised,
A few cents extracted through hot irons and hell fire,
Look for some other way to spend their remaining millions.
Few have fond enough memories to do more than wonder:
Is my degree worth anything now?

 

Copyright D.W. Walker, 1996


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