(Author's Note: A girl in my chem class.)
It's that fake lisp
her want to be a
"medical major"
knowing Duke's
ball coach's brother
doesn't hold much clout.
Holding to petty
conveniences
and an expensive calculator
fake fingernails
fumble pencils
It's enough to make
me vomit.
Brags too much
talks too much
asks too many stupid questions
takes up too much space
breathes too much air
Enough make-up
to make four starving third-world families
pretty
her need to "make the equations
colorful and special"
She can't see that they are already special.
She can't see that.
Cold efficient
tapping grate on black board
is only barely enough
to keep the bile down
The gentle gleaming math
stoichiometry
cations, anions
compounds, limiting
reactants
keep her and her world
away for the length
of a chalk piece.