When Does David Come?

In a classy study

With windows south and west

Which reveal the sunset ruddy

And where the math notes rest;

In alcove drenched in light

Under which a table stands;

The scholar works through the night

And always understands

The Latin or the reading

Assigned for that evening past.

She stops and, halfway dreaming,

Faces the right wall at last:

There should have been a picture there

Of a marble man strong and nude,

An Israelite brave and fair

To inspire a heroic mood.

But alas, he is there not,

He who tramples Goliath's head

And toys with his slingshot,

Contrapposto's grace and dread.

She asks and asks ad infinitum,

"So, do you know, when does David Come?"

When dad went to Italy, he got all these nice art prints, one of which is a huge poster of Michelangelo's David. I have been wanting that poster in my room since ninth grade, so I can scandalize any guests to my room. You have to admit seeing a three-foot, high resolution photograph of a male nude is pretty unconventional. It would be pornagraphic if it were not for the fact that The David is a respected Renaissance icon and so does not hint at the erotic whatsoever. However, the poster has had a hard time getting to my study alcove. First, mom and dad procrastinated about buying a frame. Second, when we actually looked at some frames, nothing was big enough for the thirty-nine by twenty-seven inch poster. So as of now, The David cannot watch over me as I plow through homework and other garbage at my desk. Needless to say, I am the scholar. What a shame ... This poem embodies my romanticism about having The David in my room. I have to keep the excitement alive somehow! (Jul. 2006)