The MLA Waste Land
Kevin Griffith

Viva Las Vegas.
--Elvis

I. The Burial of the Determined

December is the cruelest month, breeding
Tweed out of the dead closet, mixing
Reservations and registration, stirring
name tags with cvs.

In the hotel, there you feel ABD.
I read much of the night, and. . .well,
I read much of the night.

I will show you fear in a handful of references.

Professor Fish, famous critic,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the richest man in academia.

Fear death by tenure.

Postmodern City,
Under the approval of the Committee on Diversity,
A crowd flowed out of the Sheraton, so many,
I had not thought the dissertation had undone so many.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: "Stetson"-
(My one interview) "a college down in Florida."

"You! Bitter lecturer!-my colleague, my pal."

II. A Game with the Interviewer

The chair she sat in, like a Hilton throne. . .
(Well, those rooms all look identical).
Her questions spread out in fiery points, then
The savage stillness.

"Are you alive or not? Is there nothing in your head?"
But
O O O O that Bakhtinian rag-
It's so polyglot,
So chic and hot.

What shall I do now? What shall I do?
Telemarketing? A good trade school?

The questions come and go.
Something about Michel Foucault.
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
"I ought to be ashamed, but it is 10:30."
(And I've got 31 more candidates to interview.)
Ta ta. Good afternoon. Good Luck.
Good night sweet career, good night, sweet career, good
night, good night.

III. The Parents' Sermon

The toilet's seal is broken: the last tatters
Of the dossier clutch then slip off the wet porcelain.
And at my back I hear my old man,
The chuckle spread from ear to ear.
O the parents voices, singing in my head!

Twit twit twit
Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb
ya shoulda been a lawyer.

Screw U
I hear they have some openings
someone said in demonic cynicism.

In a taxi, throbbing, contemplating
From MLA then I left

O TWA pluckest me outta here
O TWA pluckest me out

IV. Death by Jargon

Post-Marxist or New Historicist
O you who twist the text and send meaning windward,
Consider my credentials-I'm at least as handsome and as tall
as you.

V. What the Rejection Letters Said

After a long and careful search
After considering many qualified applicants
After learning that this position will not be funded, we regret. . .
The shouting and the crying
He who was once interviewing is now adjuncting

Unreal
In this hole they call a classroom,
It has no windows, and a bell rings.
Dry humor can touch no one.
The students crouched, lumps of silence.
Duh
Double Duh
Duh Duh Duh
Guide me over the top of the staircase
The fragments of my cv I've filed under "ruins."
December's almost here again.
Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. Que so what so what.

About Kevin Griffith

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