On Teaching in a Room with Windows

by nicolecallihan

On Campus
In the classroom, though it gets so hot
that the chocolate bars we carry in our bags
(but do not share) begin to melt;
and though the air is of the quality
that makes you sleep (but not to dream);
and though I want to yell at passers-by
(in their scarves) on the street below;
and though in the glare of the sun
(which is not coming through) we muddle
through hypotaxis and passivity
(I hardly ever mention gravity);
and though just on the other side
the season’s first snow falls
(albeit sideways and graceless);
and though I threaten to jump
if they do not use proper citation (MLA),
or act decently to one another (IYKWIM),
or attempt to enter the text (LOL),
and by text I do not mean the one pinging
in their pocket but the one I have fallen for,
the one I have so carefully chosen and assigned;
here, we do not open the window
for fear that the sirens might drown us;
if not drown, call, and neck-deep in syntax
and desperate for meaning,
we might cast our pens and follow.


Advertisements