the professor

so suave in the way s/he moves
as if each motion was deliberately
choreographed,
making some students in the back
wonder
if when s/he was a student in the back
years & years ago,
that s/he dreamt of one day becoming this
thing,
this emblem of intellect,
whose mind stays in a little box called the
university &
when not taken into the public sphere,
it stays there,
mentally masturbating with the rest of them,
until they all cum in tandem at a conference,
reading papers on specific & meticulously mundane
subjects, which has gained them a seat in line for
tenure,
but in terms of helping the world,
does little but keep the tuition dollars coming in,
because the kids are the ones who line up to meet them,
the kids are the ones who believe in the lethal cocktail
of wit & romantic idealism,
which is great is discovered on one’s own,
but bitter to the taste if spoon-fed by someone whose
latent wish is to get in your pants because you are bedazzled
by the genius that you think they
possess.