UneducatedA Poem by Sel Whiteley
The mature student has soft,
almost German blonde hair,
but an English accent
I imagine as laced
with mauve plums and brandy.
He keeps flicking back to the film,
'Ulysses'. He asks
if we know the story of Ulysses,
a classroom bursts
into my mind: a chalk drawing
of a Minoan sailing ship
but that's all. I am fourteen.
My Granddad sips some Claret
at the mahogany table.
He speaks of the story
as the sun melts
over the peaceful Cornish valley
and the sparrows in the sycamore
sing into the gathering dusk
of my adolescence.
My friend left school at fourteen
but she nods. Her voice,
torn as war, or a broken home,
'Cause I do, it's about Odysseus
decade long journey to Ithaca.'
Tears blister my eyes as I think,
in the lethargy of my learning,
in the spaces between what I hear,
there is a futility that many
would have feasted on what I had.
© 2009 Sel WhiteleyReviews
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9 Reviews Added on February 11, 2009 Author
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