Math Class

I love his eyes
at times they're almost gray crystals
glistening and flickering
white-blue pillows

They seem to absorb
the paper he's scribbling on

with such haste
his freckled arm moves over the tabletop
frustration on his face

he has no idea I'm watching him

he rests his forehead
in the palm of his hand
his fingers through his hair

I love it when he's like this
deep in thought
trying to make sense of these complexities
in his mind
because he's too stubborn to do it on paper
Copyright © | Year Posted 2008

Poem

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