

Poetry by Eddie Morin
Service Fee
Reality is an ATM receipt,
Crumpled and thrown away.
The freedom of the recycling bin,
Ambition in the disposable age.
Back to School Sales
I think and think and think and think
Until I finally get sent to bed.
And sorry Mom,
It’s not the drugs;
It’s the lecture, the cannon and the text.
Milton is a corpse
And 10,000 Romantic Poets cannot raise the dead.
I read his obituary on Sparknotes
And confirmed it with her Wiken friend.
But I think and think and think yet again,
Because every Good Student knows
Passage Identification (25 marks)’ll get ya in the end!




