You get me every time.
Had a test this week that's still dripping down the middle of my chin.
I'm not as young as I once was, when I stay up all night it takes my knees forty eight hours to snap back into place.
I was in the conference room for this one.
Chairs plush and lean, like the ones they have in Germany, or Uranus.
Table wider then the bed I share.
Six open windows.
Soft light.
Door locked.
Large coffee from Dunkin Donuts with sugar only.
large bottle of smart water.
One blue book.
Two number two mechanical pencils.
Exam number one, English 2030, American Literature.
Three hours later the pages were filled with at least half right.
Hopefully more.
This semester I'd like to get my first A'.
Last semester my goal was not to get any F's.
Friend boy says he's proud of me.
Fake mom too.
In her own way, she still doesn't understand why I'm not perusing Broadway lights.
This English teacher is a new character in the series of people who correct my posture.
In the series of people who steady my breathing.
Who make me want to keep my eyes open just a little longer each day.
His name is Doctor Un Rooly.
He has leather hands, dark jackets, and two daughters.
He talks about them all the time, calls them his girls.
I put a lot of pressure on myself for this exam, because I want him to be proud of me too.
He's the spirit, I'm the flesh. Attendance is mandatory. Partial credit is given.
Me a chance,
Skin and Toast
No comments:
Post a Comment