her love of poetry, Neva

i imagine

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.