Whose coat this is I think I know.
He must be back in Terrace, though;
He did not see me stealing it
To wear as I plod through the snow.
My friend must think it very queer
To see me vomiting right here
Onto the steps of Guyot Hall,
Where I had geo freshman year.
I say, “I think that was enough.”
My friend’s not sure: “You still look rough.”
I boot again on Frist South Lawn
And slowly nod: he’s called my bluff.
McCosh is comfy, free, and fine
But I can make it back to Pyne!
Just let me chunder one more time,
Just let me chunder one more time.
— SBW ’15
