campus for a pre-exam blow-out sponsered

by a student 'eating club'.

Since frat houses are politically incorrect

for the ivy league of the 90's,

gastrointestinal social clubs have become

de rigueur.

Toasted by a gracious Jersey sun,

our sound crew, Scrappy and Boomer,

wired the wires and plugged the plugs

while the players warmed their instruments.

Inconspicuously, a faint sweet smell

of fresh baked breads and oven baked quiche

caught our collective nostrils.

Like a scene from the Night of the Living Dead,

we lost all sense of purpose and stumbled

towards the siren's scent.

When I was in college brown betty

and cheese-toast was the typical dining hall fair.

Mama Jama had fallen into a gluttons paradise.

Would we rise to the occasion?