pulling up in my chariot like

In the distance, do you see it? It’s the promise of grapes, snacks, and pitches galore at our meeting tonight at 9pm in Lerner 510! In honor of Aeschylus and The Oresteia, we present to you our inner monologue at this most favorable signage.

Oh hail, glory of the grape vine, harbinger of Bwog’s
shining, and of processionals and pitches and songs
of multitudes in Lerner 510 for this meeting of joy.
Ho there, ho!
I cry the news aloud to Bwog,
that she may rise up from her bed of state with speed
to raise the rumor of gladness welcoming this beacon,
and singing rise, if truly the citadel of Westside
has delivered, as the shining of these grapes proclaims.
I also, I, will make my choral prelude, since
my ideas cast aright are counted as my own,
and mine at 9pm will surely throw.
May it only happen. May my Bwog rejoice, and I
take up within this hand the grapes I love.

Image via Wikimedia