I was in Princeton of all
Places. My ninth grade class
Was there on a field trip: the usual
Shephaerding from edifice
To edifice-a lot of gray
Stone-winding up, though,
With something a little out of the way;
The opportunity to view
A classic three-acter
At the U's own theater.
The Play I don;t remember much
About: your basis exercise
In wigs and bodices and such.
The memorable thing was
The curtain call. How the one
Coming out was a grim guy
In tweed and tie. How the lone
Lifting of his palm by
Itself extinguished the applause.
How he had "terrible news"-
But not the news I feared. Not
Where to go. Not how
To get there. Now what
To do when you got there-go
Sit against a wall, put
Your head down, clasp your hands
Behind your head, you might shut
Your eyes in case the world ends-
None of that. Maybe he
Was finding it decidedly.
Hard to get the words out,
But what the words amounted to
Wasn't the worst thing: not
Anything that had to do
With going up in a solar hell,
But rather with the President,
A motorcade, a hospital-
With how the evident extent
Of anybody's sudden death
Was elsewhere and over with.