that is the ticket

Out they go, the glorious invitations to this year's event. As professional conferences go, the invitations reveal that year five is golden. They really do sparkle and it was a joy to witness the reactions when people received their very own. It's as if this quarter-sheet of glistening paper contained all the hopes and ambitions the bearer has for their life.

Through sheer coincidence, a poem by the current Poet Laureate presented itself to me (I was looking for a poem for tomorrow's research method course). Supposedly, Kay Ryan will read her poems twice so the audience can fully grasp the content. Or maybe hers are so short that a single reading can feel like a rip-off. Despite its brevity, I suspect I made the mistake of pushing my own views into its first few lines ... and the problem is that I am unsure that my interpretation is sufficient to carry its way throughout the verse. What I can claim is that I fear having an unused ticket in my pocket and am unprepared to suffer with the boredom and sadness of not applying the ticket to its intended and pre-paid purpose. Not that this means I need to rush to spend use each ticket because the anticipation is almost as much fun as the event itself. But this does remind me that when the day or life is over, there should be very few pieces left undone.

Ticket
Kay Ryan

This is the ticket
I failed to spend.
It is still in my pocket
at the fair's end.
It is not only
suffering or grief
or even boredom
of which we are
offered more than
enough.