Playing Whist in the Student Union in 1966

Samson Antigonistes,
Ozymandius,
An ancient mariner and I
Sat down
In the student union
To play
A hand of Whist
In a time when
Liberal arts seemed
Both relevant and important
Back in 1966.
No one of the students
MIlling around
Noticed or watched
The game
As the world stressed,
Convulsed and swirled
Around and energizingly
Through each of us.
At that formica-topped table,
We were all the same.

Behind and around us,
Virginia Wolfe,
William Faulkner
And William Butler Yeats
Stood knowingly smirking
As they saw the fruits
Of their compelling
And distracting words
Being played out
In melds, runs and tricks;
They could not help
But be lurking
With thoughtful
Satisfaction.
Our quest to understand
Was not disrupted
With the deal of a
New hand.

The engineers
With their slide rules sliding
And the meek mathematicians
Behind columns of figures
Hiding
As students of the law
By precedent
Forever abiding
Sat and studied
What was known
To keep from learning
Anything
Of intrinsic or moral value
Or meaning;
From parental thoughts
And dependence
We had nearly completed our
Weaning.

The hand of Whist
Went on for four years,
Interrupted for food,
Sleep
And classes,
No one won and
No one lost.
I walked away from the table
With cards still spread on it
The night before
Graduation
Knowing that an
Incoming Freshman
Would heed the call
And take up my hand
And seat at the table
The very next Fall.

Special moments in the past
When new thoughts and ideas
Were, into our personal mix,
Liberally and artfully
Cast and deliberately amassed.
That which we got
Called out later
To be taught.