Spring 2011 - THE POTOMAC

Doctor of Logic
   Gregg Mosson

Sunshine hugs my three, bow-tied teddy bears I've kept
in the bay window since Helen, my ex,

cashed her ticket and left
in the Volkswagen, car of the people.

My father was a transit worker, true.
Uniformed in desire, in well-pressed white and blue,

he launched me to Harvard,
that greeny Acropolis of cognitive boxers—

it takes all kinds to make a world.
So rebels, drop out of college

and when you do,
journey on the road to

the two a.m. of railroad tracks,
sucked and crushed beer cans, kick back

with a campfire Heraclitus, catch romance too
in pitched tents under brilliant stars, and all of you

an essay in logic
I've proofread

a thousand times,
demonstrating forces and drives

more powerful than a world of
I think therefore I am's.

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