It's the drive you have that matters, not the way you came to be here.

The marks fade from my shoulders as I wonder down the winding path to present.
Lice and eggs fall off, dead on the trail.
I trade my dirty sweatshirt for a white coat.
My handmedown robe tie for a title.
I fail pre-algebra to clep out of calculus and keep going.
The letters reminding me of parol hearings stop coming and the words
"you have no honor" echo unheeded off my ever-progressing back.