Two gentlemen, quite older than I
were heard discussing their school days, which
passed long ago, on a street corner
in the middle of winter. Gloved hands
stuffed deep into pockets while icy breath
escaped through their scarves. Thick wool stocking caps
and their heavily lined coats combined
to make them appear as larger beings
than they were underneath it all.
“Did you have Miss Boggs?” One of them asked.
The affirmative reply slowly
pushed dark, frozen winter particles
through the frigid night, like a ship clears
frozen ocean for more lucrative
and significant cargo pieces.
The first shuddered as he carefully
weighed his response against the late frozen
Darkness. “She always made me so–tense.”
The conversation seemed frozen, right there
on that dark corner, in winter air.
The words nearly solidified, with no
Response, no recognition aside
my own.
And I began to
contemplate my past and my
Miss Boggs. My ninth grade science
teacher. She always made me–
made us all–so tense. Tension
I remember, which often
would be broken by short skirts,
white blouses, or tight sweaters. She knew what to do to grab
the attention of a room
half filled with tense pubescent
boys (and that of the pretty
young health teacher down the hall).
We could, by degrees, attend
to this and that presence. I
however, remain unable
to explain how chemicals
can react with chemicals.