poem #9

mfa blues
 
MFA BLUES
 
I said to her, “I wish I could undo my MFA. Don’t you?”
“Even college, I think, was a mistake,” she replied,
reading glasses obscuring her eyes.
“What if we’d been high school dropouts?”
“Wouldn’t that have made our writing vital?”
“I’ll create an avatar and name him Jason Parsons.”
“Don’t name him after a school,” she blurted out.
“Fine. I’ll name him Jason Mason.”
“I hate double first names. You’re trying too hard.”
“I know, but isn’t that something that someone who has no MFA would do?”
“Oh, name him Jason Jones, won’t you? JJ. He’s the kind of boy
I would have dropped out to be with.”
“You wouldn’t have for me?”
“You wouldn’t have let me.
You knew how important college was.”
“I miss college,” I said, sentimentally.
“Me too. And grad school. Workshops. Critiques.”
“We could re-enroll and get creative writing PhDs.”
“I used to think those were a joke. Doctor of writing.”
“Would people call us doctors?”
“We’d call each other doctors.”
“For about a day.”
“Let’s apply to the P-Town residency instead.”
“Oh let’s! Cape Cod and other writers. Artists.”
“Gay men and lesbians calling us breeders.”
“It would be so novel. So dreamy.”
“So dreary. So fantastically bleak.”
“In that Virginia Woolfish way.”
“We would be so cool.”
 
– Thomas McCafferty
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