If I were a skeleton
I’d hang in a corner
Preferably in an art room
One without a chalkboard
Although I suppose the dust would cease to bother me
Students would contemplate the architecture of my bones
More than they ever contemplated English composition
They would relate to me more than any fictional character
Even if I died long before they were born
They would gaze into my sockets and soliloquize
Declaring me a fellow of infinite jest
Even though “prickly elitism” is more like it
But it’s rude to speak ill of the dead
And besides, I’d be anonymous right down to my marrow
To impressionable minds my empty skull would impart wisdom
Deepen their sense of human fragility
A student in the simple act of scratching a knuckle
Would understand their flesh is ephemeral
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