The professor's wife hurried to present his carefully packed lunch—his usual roast beef sandwich—and kissed his lips chastely, bidding him hasty goodbye. She never forgot this ritual, like she never forgot to feed her cats, never forgot the indispensable half-hour on her knees in prayer. She was a good woman.
He taught math to semi-comatose college students until 3:15, then worked in his office until 5:45, then drove home, then agonized between Domino's or Chinese takeout, then sat watching men with more interesting jobs argue over which team would claim so-and-so until he fell asleep. Life was alright.
The good student felt sorry for her professor who said the American Dream was dead. She had applied to Stanford, maintained perfect grades throughout freshman and sophomore years, had worked endless night shifts, had coasted high on hope, wondering at the crest of every hill when she'd reach the summit.
YOU ARE READING
poetry 1.0
Poetrycan someone tell me if the world is going to be alright? = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = poetry and flash fiction by danksee © 2020
