Inertia —Lucas Wildner
(after Philip Levine)
I walk among the rows of bowed heads,
circle the perimeter,
snake through the columns,
hoping the clack of dress shoes
muffles a stomach bitter
after a six am shower blow job
for a relationship
in which lust's spasmodic momentum
replaced affection
about two weeks ago. The lack
of breakfast stretches these hours long,
but I am wearing my favorite tie
(the students love the toad)
and they have work that needs doing.
From the height of my frame,
their fetal-postured bodies,
heads tilted down,
appear to be tumbling forward
into older, better selves
on future pathways I can only imagine
the glow of, with velocities
that remember what I used to know
about potential's invisible energies.
Yet my route has become routine:
circle the perimeter, snake
through the columns,
I walk among the rows of bowed heads.
