Squeezed into wooden chairs,
inquisitions billed as higher learning,
pensively gnawing on an HB pencil,
the sudden chill of air-conditioning
like the remnant cool of a snow cone
slides down my spine,
each vertebrae awkwardly shifting,
fidgety feet keeping tempo with the tick-tick-tock
as minutes edge toward the rim of start up.
The prof enters.
She looks pleasant enough.
Arms officiously swinging,
wisdom bursting forth from her oversized leather handbag,
fingers reaching for the security of the podium
and course notes that divide us.
She’s new at this too.
Or is it?
...to know that the gums in my eraser-dry throat,
swells twice as parched in hers.
Eyes darting, sweaty forehead,
a momentary hushed frenzy in the room,
as she begins,
“Let’s start with attendance.”
…and why not?
Once we get to know one another,
it’s all down hill from there.