An Ode to Acadia

Lament of a Hungry Student

By: Quinn McClurg

Dearest Acadia, you went by many names: the place of plenty, the idyllic place, the paradise. Interesting how none of these come close to the truth. 

They once did, Acadia. You used to be a late-night haven, a karaoke hotspot, a place that always had a table with a loving patron’s name on it

But you are these things no longer.

No. A bus reached out with a steadfast hand and took this all from you, wrenching with steely fingers painted with the reds and golds of the University. You tried to fight, but there wasn’t much you could do; you could never bring yourself to hurt anything but my wallet. Instead, you collapsed, leaving the bus’ metal fingers silver and gray, gifting from destructive nature and self-sacrifice a new color, a new reflectivity, a new birth: a masterpiece of naked steel, broken brick, splintered wood, and motor oil was all that was left to speak of your sacrifice. 

I am lucky if I can stand before you today and find more than rubble. 

Students reacted accordingly, missing the friends and fries, lattes, and live music. 

They have banded together to raise money for what insurance could not afford.

A sweet and generous gesture,

But a gesture that doesn’t change the fact that now 

It is 11 pm,

I am hungry,

And you 

Are still in ruin;

No other restaurant is able to sate my late night hunger

And I dare not partake in DP Dough.

Your late-night-welcoming past is long behind you.

So Acadia, dearest Acadia:

With hollow heart and empty stomach,

I will wait for you.

I promise.