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.