Aerodynamics of Thought
In class, the aerodynamics of thought -
the engineer commandeers our papers.
She wears a blindfold over mouth and nose,
trains us on how to crease and navigate.
The solid white and dotted lines, on course.
Teach’ will enforce sans imagination.
Argumentation on the plane - not good.
It will set sail - students will stay in line.
The race is on, some fast, some slow, no-goes.
Leader nods approval to bobbing heads.
A seamless exercise in full control.
But, today, here I am with crimson paper
tucked into my binder. It opens eyes.
Without boundaries, abruptly I crease
the wrinkles of the teacher - she demands
that I cease. I can’t hear her - she’s muffled
behind the ridiculous cloth, of lack
of common sense, and pomp; her eyes seething.
I complete my assignment filled with glee.
The path I take in life, adventurous.
I’m weaving left and right. I’m not unseen.
I break the sound barrier, and speed of
light. My fuselage - twenty-four seven lit.
I lift past the classroom, way past normal,
until my death. The teacher grabs my plane,
tears it up…”will not be tolerated!”
She hands me a page - a solid white sheet.
I paint it bright red, concealing the dots.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
