Updated: Oct 15, 2020
It was an honor to be chosen.
He was very picky
when selecting his students.
His sharp blue eye caught on me.
The lure danced in my face as
the hook sunk so easily
into my soft cheek.
I did not protest as he
reeled me to the classroom.
The air inside was stagnant,
stale traces of body odor.
A dirty feeling swept over me as I saw
evidence of the pupil before me:
Grease marks from an oily forehead
smeared across the desk,
Long dark hairs caught in
the screw behind my back,
Dried gum planted beneath the seat.
My skin began to itch,
bacteria creeping into my pores.
Last student so freshly expelled that
the seat was still warm from her ass.
I wanted to purify, burn sage.
She lurked outside,
planting sticky fingers on the window,
scar tissue raised on her cheek.
He shut the blinds in her face.
It was my turn, yes it was.
And so the lesson began.
Ulrikka Haveron is a writer of poems and short stories residing in Portland, Oregon and originally from Texas. She was a performing acrobat and choreographer for 10 years and is now focusing on writing. She is also a mother, lactation consultant and teacher. She will be published in the Spring 2020 issue of VoiceCatcher.