On Being Tired of Scholarship Applications

My graces are sundry, my praises are many
oh, but alas! I'm given a word limit!
For that, I'll be brief: I study my notes,
I'm respectful of teachers, I try not to boast,
I tutor my peers, I do my own work,
of my responsibilities ne'er do I shirk
even the smallest, I listen in lecture,
I think outside the box, I ask "why?" and conjecture,
but my greatest, most glorious grace of them all
is that I find education so enjoyable.

There are things I would the world did know
But, alas, realize it can't be so
For the things I wish to sing and shout
Would do more ill if free without
Than good if loosed from my within
So I stay mum and we stay friends

V

Blonde in a low-cut, mustard-colored suit reading cue cards about the economy. Petition circulating to keep Ginsberg from speaking. Cut to commercial. Brunette in a low-cut dress lauding some bank. Luxury sedan. Beer. Don Juan Smith beat a toddler to death. Senator Bill Purcell of Scotland county wants to make salvia a Schedule I drug. Cut to video of kids on hallucinogen. Back to the economy- Dow Jones, NASDAQ, S&P 500, all down.
Sex. Torture. Sex. Avarice. Death. Drugs. More bad news.
Three minutes of News 14 Carolina.
Not exactly PG-13.

Pregnant woman and a toddler sleeping in front of the laundry mat. Dog on a chain. Teens necking down the alley, waiting for the bus. Hummer filling up at the Texaco. Dog strewn across the highway (blood guts lolling tongue crooked limbs and stench). Driver ahead of me flicks a butt out the window. Homeless man picking up cans.
Sex. Torture. Sex. Avarice. Death. Drugs. More bad news.
Three minutes driving down NC Highway 49.
Not exactly PG-13.

Condom wrapper. Razor blade. Motor running, seats down. Gucci, on the feet waist arm. Hunting fatigues. Cigarettes. (Smoke instead of breakfast.)
Sex. Torture. Sex. Avarice. Death. Drugs. More bad news.
Three minutes walking into school.
Not exactly PG-13.