breathe in the sigh of soft air
the breeze that tangles your hair and
lifts it gently off your neck...

close your eyes, embrace the cool emptiness of overness
nine hours of relentless stress behind you
let memories of sleepless nights and weeks of cramming
quietly erode....

slide your calculator back into its case, child
for bc calc is dead
and no longer shall you stare in a state of perplexed agony
at whiteboards filled with graphs and
impossible equations
close your textbook once and for all, child
for ap us is dead
along with its millions of players
and no longer shall you stare in a state of perplexed agony
at lists and lists of words and terms, pages of ten-point font
explaining the birth of the modern party system
and truman's policies of containment
and why it was the compromise
of 1850 failed
stop talking to yourself in broken french, child
for lang and lit is dead
and no longer shall you stare in a state of perplexed agony
at the pages of le petit prince
wondering why les enfants peut comprendre ce materiale
et pas tu

slam shut your binders full of endless notes
for they are useless
go burn your copies of princeton review
for they are crap
go take a long bath
and forget about those numbers
go to sleep, my child, and rest

you deserve it.

and also, you'll need it--

your term paper's due in a week.