The world pinches off
in a gossamer, sprightly bubble,
and adrenaline surges like
that of a falling dreamer
hitting the oh so real yet
imaginary ground-
when our eyes meet.
A cutting, nasally and ignorant remark
from the teacher juts through the air
like an accidental fart. She turns her
back to write her ego on the board.
My whole, aching body sighs
and a little, timid noise
escapes my distracted lips
as daydreams gain
a morsel, a scrappy but tasty
crumb, of credibility-
when our eyes meet.
"Stand for the pledge!" forces itself
above the din. I sit in
liberal defiance against
the chauvinistic institution.
Then my unrestrained self
leaves its desk-shaped
prison cage and waltzes over to yours,
dances to flamboyant music,
picks the lock
and sets you free-
when our eyes meet.
An improv lecture on what it is to be
an adult rattles in the empty skulls
of hungry, trite, teens-
I tune out as well.
Adolescence is a fickle bitch.
