she's 90 by now and more,
but
i still see her
in front of the class
teaching,
chalk scratching
at the blackboard.
her pocketbook
around her shoulder,
not yet
set down,
her glasses
steamed
with enthusiasm
as she
tells us what we don't
know,
about sylvia Plath
and sexton,
mark strand
and the immortals of
modern
poets. Larkin
and Ignatow.
confessionals.
though she avoids
Charles Bukowski, who
she can't stand.
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