On Commencement

Once a year, a million kids

Quit going to a school

And they rent ugly hats and dresses

Because that’s just the rule.

Everybody’s name is read

And then the hats are thrown

And a million kids proceed to then

Forget what they had known.

Then a half a million kids

Go to school that costs a lot

Where they try to sleep with other kids

And, if they’re me, do not.

The other half get jobs at places

Where food is microwaved

Or join the “Guns and Tanks” patrol

And thus the world is saved.

This graduation from a child

To learned adult is great.

And now I must excuse myself;

For bed, I’m somewhat late.