I could have been a great teacher---
but I would find
myself, all at once, stopping---
my mind asking my mind
questions---my students would stare
as I stopped, there,
in front of the room,
as if it were night---
I, a poet in that gloom,
paused, on one page,
for nearly eternity:
a line accusing my love---
this gilded, sickening age---
and all this fake fraternity.
I would lift my hand
as if to let them know
it was okay, but each of my students would stand
and without a word, go.