On a walkway between twin towers
Of the English Department, someone has a set of drums;
Others have guitars, tuba, a clarinet.
Walking through the South Lawn you can see heads
Without bodies gathering and talking on the walkway.
Inside some secretaries are bothered
And tutors interrupted mid-sentence in a novel
By Conrad, with that ungracious sound poised
On their commas. Those musicians up there
Come out singing: words fly up off the walkway.