Louis Groarke: An Academic Nursery Rhyme

An Academic Nursery Rhyme

There was an old scholar
who lived in a shoe
he applied for some grants
that didn’t come through

He revised all of physics
invented a serum
provided a proof
of Fermat’s last theorem

He wandered down paths
wherever they led
he did not leave footprints
but footnotes instead

He focused on details
what others had said
splitting the hairs
that grew on his head

He flew to a conference
out over the sea
he recorded it all
in a book-length CV

On his way back
he went for a float
the floor struck a leak
and down went the boat

He kept his composure
for while he was sinking
he busied himself
with lateral thinking

They say he still teaches
below the cold waves
lecturing on Plato
in seawater caves

His pupils are fish
they gather in schools
in afternoon labs
they inspect molecules

Whales stop and listen
and so do the sharks
they grin at his jokes
and learn about quarks

An octopus comes
but don’t be alarmed
he takes notes for each student
with each of his arms

And once in a while
a mermaid glides by
and listens to lectures
while wondering why

Life in the ocean
is meant to be free
except for the cost
of tuition and fees

The water refracts
soft light like a prism
but our scholar complains
the sea’s like a prison

At each convocation
three hundred feet down
it’s hard to keep swimming
while wearing a gown

Lectures to give
essays to mark
our hero’s immersed
in political snark

Trembling in fear
of harassment complaints
he lives like a monk
and prays like a saint

With post-Modern tones
he likes to transgress
he lectures on Mondays
wearing a dress

He triggers the students
but not with a gun
he owns a harpoon
that shines like the sun

And sometimes it’s true
he dis-criminates
while giving out marks
and grading debates

Whenever he tires
of meetings and things
he takes tranquilizers
to balance mood swings

He edits a journal
called Salt Water Studies
which publishes friends
and all of his buddies

He fills it with jargon
as clear as the mud
composed every month
in the heart of the flood

And maybe one day
he’ll win a great prize
and thank Mr. Nobel
with tears in his eyes

Or maybe again
he’ll just disappear
an expert on trends
of some far yesteryear

Defending a theory
from some ancient day
on the crest of a wave
that just tumbles away.

Louis Groarke