This is not anatomy

Chalked in white on some obvious blackboard,
nudes reclining. They were sketched squiggly,

as though hurried, but the genitalia were all there.
Dicks dangling, tits pushed squarely up against

a square, he guessed. Maybe it was supposed to have
been an ottoman. It only contained two dimensions,
anyway.

They rambled and danced on the chalkboard, and around
them were the remnants of the pre-lunch series of notes.

Mr. Simic sighed along with the class bell. What would
it take for him to lock the door after fourth period?

If he knew, he wouldn’t be sweating in a scramble to clear
the student prank. If he could remember to lock the door,

he could remember to zip up his zipper more often; he could
recall his estranged brother’s birthday; maybe he could
stop misplacing his brand new iPhone.

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