Three back and second from the left:
my home for period six,
a desk more scuffed and scratched than its parallel, footprint littered tiles.
Here, three quarters of an hour is a day for every minute,
where the name of the month is Algebra II,
and the year: 2009
multiplied by the square root of x
minus pi.
I have a front row seat to a bird’s eye view
of Josh’s back.
It is a russet landscape of rolling creases,
the ever changing dunes of the Sahara.
Tomorrow is Saint Patrick’s Day (God bless the Irish,
drowning it all in liquid ignorance),
and I hope to muffle the jaded sighs; the irritating pinches;
the variables
with a lush and verdant mountain range
subsiding to grassy plains
as Josh hunches—listening intently to his eraser—closer to his desk
(two back and second from the left)
to write the value of y.