It doesn't have a word to say
Word on the street is that the Field may be a parking lot next semester. New dorms are growing out of the parking lots of old, and these newborn dorms will need parking of their own.
I had hoped I would be gone before they ate the Field. Upon graduating I'd turn my back on Amherst and when I did the forces that be would sweep down upon the Field and envelope it in fire. Rumor has it the land was purchased by UMass years ago, with the intent to build a medical school there. In the warmer days, I'd lie in the Field and sometimes think about that medical school. I'd listen to the winds of change and breath the smoke from the grass and then hold my breath and think about doctors. Maybe next semester a young doctor to be will park his car here. Honestly, I never liked doctors.
I drank with a doctor once. At the end of a night of talking about medicine and my disdain for his profession, he stared at me. He put his hand on my shoulder like a benevolent doctor and told me that what I thought didn't matter cause when I died it'd be the doctors who would be there; administering my final days. I'm not a violent drunk, I said bullshit, not fuck you.
But it is bullshit and fuck him, cause if there is even one Field left when my time comes, then I'll be there with the grass, where I can still hear the winds of tomorrow and see the horizon. My final horizon will not be the edge of a bed. But I'm so young he says. The doctor says he is the ferryman for all men, even the young who now deny him. I try and think back to things I didn't understand when I was younger; to see the changes in myself, to better understand what it would be like accept the doctor as my ferryman.
I casually think about chaining myself to the Field. But that's a bit garish and outdated for my taste. Besides I feel that the fate of the Field is none of my business. My role is simply to sit there. To live. If the doctor recongized when fate walked in the room maybe then I'd let him be my ferryman.
I had hoped I would be gone before they ate the Field. Upon graduating I'd turn my back on Amherst and when I did the forces that be would sweep down upon the Field and envelope it in fire. Rumor has it the land was purchased by UMass years ago, with the intent to build a medical school there. In the warmer days, I'd lie in the Field and sometimes think about that medical school. I'd listen to the winds of change and breath the smoke from the grass and then hold my breath and think about doctors. Maybe next semester a young doctor to be will park his car here. Honestly, I never liked doctors.
I drank with a doctor once. At the end of a night of talking about medicine and my disdain for his profession, he stared at me. He put his hand on my shoulder like a benevolent doctor and told me that what I thought didn't matter cause when I died it'd be the doctors who would be there; administering my final days. I'm not a violent drunk, I said bullshit, not fuck you.
But it is bullshit and fuck him, cause if there is even one Field left when my time comes, then I'll be there with the grass, where I can still hear the winds of tomorrow and see the horizon. My final horizon will not be the edge of a bed. But I'm so young he says. The doctor says he is the ferryman for all men, even the young who now deny him. I try and think back to things I didn't understand when I was younger; to see the changes in myself, to better understand what it would be like accept the doctor as my ferryman.
I casually think about chaining myself to the Field. But that's a bit garish and outdated for my taste. Besides I feel that the fate of the Field is none of my business. My role is simply to sit there. To live. If the doctor recongized when fate walked in the room maybe then I'd let him be my ferryman.
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