<%@LANGUAGE="JAVASCRIPT" CODEPAGE="1252"%> Poetry by Ben Wesling

 


Slept Til 2

by Ben Wesling



It's a quarter past 1
when I wake for the first time
from the dream of the school
where you are my teacher
horn rimmed glasses
tight short skirt
low cut blouse
I fail the test every time
caught looking at your legs
broke my pencil with a snap.
I must have fallen asleep again
now its 1:30, and the school bell rings
in my head like an alarm
I never seem to heed
then your nails scratch across the blackboard
bringing me to face you
a beast with eyes of fire
and a tail that drags on the floor, trailing through
the chalk dust falling like snow.
Suddenly I see the clock
its 1:45 already? holy cow
I gather up my books and papers
preparing to go
but you stop me at the door
and I have to stay after class
while you lecture me
on the importance of being a scholar
I watch your legs cross and uncross
as you sit on the edge of the desk
on the edge of my mind
your chest heaving up and down
in and out
your heels clicking on the ceiling as you swing
those legs around my mind
I notice a phrase written on the blackboard
"I will not stare at my teacher".
its written in some strange language
that bubbles and hisses at me from the wall
"Hey! Are you listening to me?"
I hear you say, looking back at your face.
Your hair is pulled back tight
tied in a black pony tail at the back of your head
your long smooth thighs bare
and mesmerizing
but when the ruler cracks on my knuckles
I just laugh at the idea of high school
and the futility of teaching
young skulls full of mush.
A wind in the hallway
pulls me out past metal lockers
and teachers lounges
and lunchrooms
to a vast field of dead grass
where leaping trolls in colored jerseys
cavort and caper
chasing a brown pigskin
that giggles as it flies through the air
and lands in my arms.
I look up to see you
in your horn rim glasses
your hair down your back
blowing in a soft warm breeze
your naked breasts press against me
in a last ditch attempt to keep me
on the school grounds
but I am through with this classroom
I have graduated to a new grade
where I am in control
where I test myself
where I grade myself on my own bell curve
where I hold myself back a year when I need to
where I write my own diplomas.

Later that night
you ask if I dreamed anything interesting
I just tell you that
I woke a few times
but I slept til 2.

© Wesling, 2006


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Ben Wesling is a poet and fiction writer living in San Diego. His work has appeared - and is upcoming - in HUNGUR Magazine.