Calculus

In all the calculations I haven’t really done, I’ve come to realize that In four years, I’ve suffered from The rocking of a coach buss that Always made me nauseous For enough time to Cross the line of dedicated determination, Into that of, well, unadulterated masochism. It’s all been Sleepless nights passing Through backwater towns, And summer’s spent with awkward tan lines, Because the sun was always on my right, And my neckstrap always made an arrow pointing down In four years I’ve spent more time trying to remember what my visuals are, than I’ve spent studying for the ACT In four years, I still haven’t managed to figure out, How I could have just gotten home from band Only to change my sneakers And drive straight back But I think it might have something To do with the fact That rest is a four letter word Fuchs never seemed to learn, And Greg is hardly any better. Though I’d rather have a woman who couldn’t spell, Over golphers in a blender, Because what did we ever do to you mister Greg, That made you want us to look Like rodents wedged in a glass Container sacred only to smoothies and milkshakes? And for that matter why Do you know what golfers in a blender look like? But I guess, Tose are the details, the little things that flesh out the Importance of some memories, because, On the grand scale of things, Band is so much more than just visuals And practice. The things they taught us in band Are like commandments Of their own design Written not in stone but imprinted on the wrinkles of our brains, And what they taught us in band to Is work harder than we ever really wanted to Relish in our accomplishments even if no one saw them as victories, And never stop running towards the impossible. And most nights, This was ok with us as we drove home Through cooling August air In ravenous packs of wild things Our speakers music That couldn’t drown out the thunderous white noise Of our chatter It wasn’t ok with us, On the other nights, As we drove home in aggravated indignation, Wearing capes of frustration about our shoulders As no one seemed to understand That practice can only make perfect if we practice And sometimes we just wanted To bow out like ostriches, Pressing our faces into the dirt of defeat But that doesn’t matter tonight because we have caught the impossible, We created a collective of individuals. Unique from the swagger in our steps To the way we speak our minds. And this band ends at graduation And there will never be another like it, But I can’t wait to see the next one because I’m pretty damn sure that it Will be amazing. And if there were enough words left in The English language To express all the things that could be said tonight I wouldn’t even bother Because looking for everyone would be like playing “Where’s Waldo” in the dark, But here’s just two more I thought you’d like: Hey Band---