Higher Education

With a turn of the key in the lock
I am back to my freedom
and my prison once more.
I'm away from home, but caged
like Mike who lives down the street.
The dorm room is so small,
and cramped like a bread box
with stale mattresses pressed in
so close that I could roll over
and poke my roommate in the eye
when she sleeps late in the morning.
A smell lingers heavily in the air
curling like a snake under the beds
ready to spring on us unsuspecting
prisoners of higher education.
My shadowed refrigerator squats
in the darkness of the room but
it's not humming its usual refrain.
Instead it's lifeless and so
carefully I approach it,
holding my breath, not in anticipation,
but rather in the terror of discovery.
I open the belly of the beast,
as adventurers open forgotten tombs,
and air that smells a thousand years old
knocks me back, gasping.
What terror has been unleashed
in the foul pit of this brown creature?
fish sticks and rotten eggs,
jelly and some mayonnaise,
spewing forth a putrid smell
into the confines of purgatory.
I feel so special to have learned
this particular lesson that
the university has taught me.
This isn't motel six, so
don't expect the school
to leave the power on for you.
A can of air freshener hisses
but it can't cover up my bitterness.

September 19, 2002