I wander around the tables, looking
for my own space. The stack room
is full, I was hoping for quiet, but
you, you and your pupil
don’t know the rules.
Your head is forward,
a razor-cut fringe shields a razor-sharp stare.
Linguistic lines fly toward
a far away dialect,
causing thick brows to close
around foreign fingers.
foot tapping in time with your desire
to jump further than the language barrier.
More than the carpet burns as you rise.
You say you have walked here,
he replies he has a car.
the zip of your bag
nags the unanswered question.
His chair glides smoothly over your intentions.
stripping bare the chairs,
revealing the promise of
togetherness in a small space.
to his step,
with your breath.
Yes, it’s parked at home in the garage.
Should I tell you that you have your cardy on inside out?