a poem based on this post a while back...
i move, duck and cover.
under siege and outnumbered.
the only weapons are my books, my mind, and this pen.
the invasion comes and i am beset!
fighting on all fronts.
zombie assignments sent from Sorcerouses and wizards with doctorates.
i decapitate a NT112 paper in a moldy business suit,
i wield Brueggemann like a shot gun,
peppering the paper with citations.
CH113 takes more time, but i systematically
eviserate with a combo of Gonzalez and primary sources.
i grab some pizza and Mt Dew
in an abandoned pub when pastoral care attacks
family systems is wielded with finesse and the
ambush is over.
bruised and blooded and one more year to go.
is the pen mighter than the prof? that is the question.
but the reality is that these zombies
aren't half as dangerous than
the ones that will be sitting
in our pews.