(no subject)

[ghostofchance.livejournal.com]

Sam Pierstorff

Trident Through the Heart

From the back row of the classroom,
I watch her gracefully unfold
and scan the flier I gave her last month
about my poetry reading this month.

For a moment, I fantasize about her front row
appearance next Sunday afternoon —
legs crossing, polished red lips glowing
in the perimeter of the spotlight
that encircles me as she leans forward
to eavesdrop on unspoken messages passed
between us when others can only hear
the cacophony of metaphor.

But within seconds, she reaches
with two fingers like tweezers
into her mouth and extracts a wet,
pink piece of bubble gum,
pressing it firmly into the center of the flier.
And as she folds it back into fours,
I hear the gum crackle—
the last bubble bursting.