The Exam

My eyes swim up from a tangled seaweed
of long forgotten data.
Now I remember that instead of going home
I stayed on at that topless bar. 

I am unprepared for future-shock, ill-equipped
to decipher questions, that like shaggy owls
hoot in a darkening lecture hall.

I used to panic myself awake at such times
but this reoccurring dream has become a parody,
a Dahliesque floor show of every 
melting pants down moment.

I have been dreaming 
of my post-graduate thesis
it rides still on a city bus,
passengers sit on it as they come and go;
the manuscript is deeply indented 
with butt cheeks.

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