Survival and Damage
At some point in this process, I realized that surviving had become its own skill. I started to know this was not the job of my heart as it had been for so many years, but I was afraid to let go – afraid for me, afraid for my colleagues, and afraid for the school we had built. The strain was significant.
So was the rhythm. We kept working. We kept meeting. We kept revising the plans to reflect the changing circumstances. We kept strategizing ways to take care of the people and the institution. The intersection of the strain and the rhythm showed up at first in small ways: fatigue, gallows humor, long, not always quiet, conversations after the meetings ended.
I wrote The Dean’s Survival Kit during that intersection, long before any of us imagined we would all be removed. It began as a small gesture to bolster the spirits of the deans working through a difficult stretch. So, yes, each of us owns an actual box containing the items named in the poem — a dumpster-fire stress ball, a voodoo doll, tears of past deans, a small trophy, and a few other items that seemed appropriate at the time. Mine sits on my desk next to the “I Don’t Work Here” sign. I just wanted something to make us laugh while acknowledging the truth, even sideways.
The other poems in this section sit in the space between my finding a way to cope while also being clear – this institution wasn’t just strained; it was damaging the people trying to hold it together.
Sometimes the only response left is to stop pretending otherwise.
The Dean’s Survival Kit
When budgets shrink and patience thins,
And chaos throughout this campus spins,
This kit’s for you, my fearless friend,
Who stays the course unto the end
The trophy shines for all you do,
Since praise is rare and overdue.
The voodoo doll? You know the score.
Employ for strategy and gen ed core.
The evil eye to keep at bay
The names aloud we do not say
A shot glass waits for nights you find
You’ve lost endowment and your mind.
A dumpster fire stress ball too,
Because let’s face it, that’s our view.
The mirror says, “You’ve got this, girl,
Just keep on dancing the BS swirl.”
One puzzle piece, the others gone.
You’re leading blind, but still press on.
Hold tight to the bottle of past deans’ tears,
It’s cheaper than therapy over the years.
And since reason is gone and judgment pales,
Roll the dice when logic fails.
So yes, dear dean, you are through the glass.
And, yes, you’re working for an ass.
But purpose lurks beneath the mess
You still make meaning despite the stress.
(A poem and kit for those still standing.)
Sayin’ the Quiet Part Out Loud
In the South, we tiptoe around a clueless employee
Like the drunken uncle at a holiday.
We shake our heads; we bless their hearts
We whisper softly, “what if… what may?”
In the South, we trade guarded whispers,
Guessin’ when the higher-ups might step in.
But we’re careful not to call it outright,
‘Cause everybody knows rudeness is a sin!
There’s rules for work and rules for home.
Southern etiquette ain’t fancy,
But it’s real well-known.
At home – when someone’s life spins out of control
You feed their freezer with a casserole.
You don’t drop by without a call
You holler first, “hey y’all.”
Hot or cold, you offer sweet tea,
Syrup thick as hospitality.
And especially when you don’t give a damn,
You end the sentence with a hearty “yes ma’am.”
At work these rules still mostly hold,
With one addition, quietly enforced.
When it’s time to shake your heads and mourn
The loss of culture, care, and course.
You count to ten, each careful digit
Civility won’t let us call a coworker “idjit.”
Foot Stomp
Foot stomp – the time is here, and the things that we hold dear
Rail against the hour that has finally come.
When I tell you that it’s broken, I am not mispoken.
It’s way beyond fixing – not some token of wisdom.
With all the painful poking, the mending, and the picking
All you did was make it worse than before.
Foot stomp – bad to worse
Foot stomp – no rehearsal
Foot stomp – it’s crystal clear
Foot stomp – the end feels near
They brought you here to fix it, but you really just deep-sixed it.
‘Cuz you simply can’t admit it – you never had a clue.
You said the words, and played the part, put the horse before the cart,
Let everything fall apart, pretending that you knew.
Foot stomp – you tried to hide it
Foot stomp – the board denied it
Foot stomp – you lack the skill
Foot stomp – this was no drill
The future college, out in the cold – we know the center cannot hold.
If everyone does what they’re told, we’ll see the coming freeze.
Unless we rally, strong and bold, this is the end that will unfold,
When that slouching beast will bring us to our knees.