Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Professor Hottie

This is the poem I didn't send in to the grad student who's filling in for Poetry Professor. I sent him one about sex ed, teen pregnancy, stds, prostitution, and infidelity instead.

EDIT- To clarify, Poetry Professor is not Professor Hottie

Professor Hottie

My professor smiles revealing
Two symmetrical dips, one in
Each cherubic cheek
My eyes hunger for a peek
Under his academic shell

His nutmeg and cinnamon orbs
Search the class for a volunteer
I almost always have something
To add to the discussion
Which he rarely steers preferring
A more open forum

He draws a picture on the whiteboard
Which hardly resembles the cow he
Claims it to be, Pictionary, he tells us
Is not a game we should play with him
His arms firm yet supple extend as he
Adds what he insists is a barn

His top two shirt buttons are undone today
Revealing his creamy skin beneath
I imagine the rest of his chest to be
Toned but soft and smooth like Michelangelo’s
David wrapped in layers of silk

My professor turns to face the board again
My eyes drift down to the tight roundness
That shapes the top of his pants
My left hand squeezes my laptop almost involuntarily
I force my eyes up to the back of his neck

He turns to face the class again pushing
A curl temporarily back into place
He quickly wraps up the discussion as
We put away our laptops, notebooks, and folders
I wonder if he knows what his female students
Call him when he and the male students aren’t around

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