The plaques stare at me expectantly
From across the room, like a man in the doctor’s office.
I told mother they weren’t necessary,
Never the less there they are, lined up proudly.

What a blundering cropful of stupidity,
A piece of wood gilded with one’s name,
Is this the fruit of accomplishment?
No one ever offered me a pint for holding a 3.5 gpa.

Interestingly the clock is among them,
With its hands uneasily situated in the far right.
The night is only starting, I have great
Expectations to live up to, more plaques to earn.