THE CLASS OF POETS

  They enter the class

  Faces fixed

   Sit down in old-fashioned hard wooden seats

   Unfold books, loose leafs, laptops

   Glance through their work

   Sigh

   Look down

  When called upon

   Speak their words

   With a quiet fire

   At class end

   Disperse

   Into night rain

  And sizzle with

  Each step

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