The professor's voice fades away
As I notice a brown, flat-footed spider
Tiptoeing
Along our classroom floor.
I watch it,
Invested.
It moves closer to my feet.

I hope it comes my way,
But it moves to the ******* my right.
When I advise her to move her bags,
Spotting the spider, she and her empty eyes say,
"I kind of want to **** it."

I whisper, taken aback,
Don't **** it!
Her boot lifts,
Don't **** it! I say again.

I look away,
Opening my ears to Brahms.
I blink and glance to my right.
She's looking blankly at the teacher.
I can't see the spider anywhere, and
I demand, "Did you **** it?"

She turns her empty eyes,
"Sorry. I think it's sort of dead."
My eyelids tighten, eyebrows squished up,
"Why??"
There is no answer, and
I turn away with a heavy conscious.