Report Card

Today, the classes end. The exodus of students Casts a hush upon this room, This room so recently abuzz, Echoing the cacophony Of saw Drill Chisel And voice. The cuckold machines Sit silent, Idle and patient. Under this stark California sun, Julie takes her place with the other faculty. Wine, warm and wet, Spills past their lips As they cruise the Folding table islands Dotting this ocean Of tarmac and lawn, Toasting the season's end, Nibbling the occasional carrot and cracker Gloaming Dims into evening. In scattered clumps They finally disperse All too eager to embrace The new freedoms of summer. At 1:45 the next afternoon she arrives in our doorway. Straps of a half-hidden bra snake over the top of her book bag. Her eyes greet my gaze with a look of panic. I stagger backwards slightly and sink Into our supple sofa; Comprehension becoming incendiary, Stinging my now wet eyes. It is report card day. This moment between us is my Final Grade. I have just flunked out of this most venerable institution.