Alma Mater, Forget Me

TWICE a year,
Chatty and blithe,
Letters requesting
My old school tithe:

Twice a year
It’s “Dear Alumnus,
Don’t we have
Something com’n’ us?

“Remember the class
Of nineteen-o-;
It’s time to pass
The old chapeau.”

Billets-doux
To tous the alumni;
We are the stars
They set their sum by.

This importuning
Makes me bridle;
I get alma
Matricidal.

Take the chapel
Bell and hock it;
I’m tired of being
Out of pocket.

Take the football
Team and sell it;
Or save money —
Just expel it.

I’m all paid up
For my education;
Why don’t you try
The Ford Foundation?

And please forget
The undersigned;
He’d like to cut
The tithes that bind.