For some poems, you’re punctual:

You place your pencil on your notepad,

You settle in your seat,

You even read the syllabus,

The poem introduces itself,

And you asks questions,

In hopes of getting to know each other,

In case there’s a test later.

 

For some poems, you’re late:

You weren’t prepared,

You slept in,

They started without you.

Even the door groans as you step in,

And the poem pauses

Mid-sentence,

You hear a fragment of a word hanging in the air,

Feel their eyes crawl over you,

You mutter an excuse,

Which is just another type of intrusion.

 

Out of a profound sense of embarrassment,

You sit still,

You listen,

Almost like an apology,

You don’t ask any questions,

The poem’s word is law,

And the poem says:

 

“I have lived like a foot”

“April is the cruelest month”

“Nature’s first green is gold”

“The houses are haunted”

“The blood dimmed tide is loosed”

 

If you wanted a better explanation,

You should have been a better student.