English 160 Squeeze

The Classgoer

I scratched and clawed, my nails were worn.

My note-book ripped, my coat was torn.

But with all my energetic action,

I couldn't beat the dilettante faction.

My eyes are keen, my hearing fair,

But they did no good on an outside stair.

Josh Logan remains but a name to me,

On a theatre bill or bright marquee.

Sargent Kennedy I implore,

I'm tired of sitting on the floor.

Don't offer Agincourt or Flanders,

Scrap Soldiers Field; just give me Sanders.