POV, my own: A response to “We think too much and feel too little” (a poem)

texture 9

We feel too little and 
think too much,
he said.
 
Which is funny 
really,
when you think about it.
 
I mean I wish I 
thought we thought 
too much.
 
I wish, too, that I could bring you
into today’s 
college classroom. 
 
Because there you would see 
a set of twenty year olds who
feel everything.
 
They feel so as 
to avoid thinking, 
I think, though I do not know.
 
More brains, less guts, please, 
is what I tell them
on a weekly basis.
 
But by now they’re ideological 
feelers, de veras: postmodernist 
there are no realities types. 
 
There are no realities, and
history is a social construction, until
all that matters is what they feel.
 
Sorry, prof, I
couldn’t get out of bed last week.
 
Sorry, prof, my
therapist told me to focus on myself this week.
 
Sorry, prof, I…
can’t get a handle on my unipolar–bipolar–chronic–seasonal–ADHD–exacerbated–major–minor depression next week.
 
We feel too little and 
think too much,
he said.
 
Which is funny 
really,
when you think about it.
 
Or when you 
glance at my
attendance sheets.
 
I mean I wish I 
thought we thought 
too much.
 
More brains, less guts, please.
I beg, in fact, though they
rarely hear. 
 
Even if they did hear,
they would be unlikely 
to understand,
 
for theirs is a generation
built upon nihilisms and 
temporality.
 
Theirs is a generation
branded by birth,
bowling alone,
 
asked to ask for a lifetime,
questions of who and not what
they will grow to be.