The Professor Introduces her Old Wardrobe and the New Semester

It was challenging gathering the large pile
of brown and black polyester slacks
and sensible pinstriped skirts without
the never ironed cotton-blend button-up shirts
and permanent press, slouchy cowneck blouses
sliding off the top, but she managed to haul them
towering over her head to the windowless classroom
where students sat quietly with literature books
still in shrink-wrap on their laps
should they decide to drop the class after today.
She heaved and the pile slumped
in the middle of the room like a dead animal.

Students fidgeted in the circle of chairs
she had arranged for just this moment.

A pissed-off Prometheus, she lit
a strike-anywhere match on her blue jeans’ seam
and tossed it on the brindled pile.
It hissed and crackled into a huge black puddle
Catching carpet now a flaming ring.
When she ordered her students
to throw in their chairs and books,
the conflagration drove them from the room.
The fire alarm calmly ordered mass evacuation.
The Professor stood with her class on the lawn,
warming her hands over her place of employment,
passing out wire coat hangers and marshmallows.

2015