The Professor

The Professor

By Shane McCrae

The air is colder than the light in the air

No fog, no smoke, but the light hangs on the air

Like fog, like smoke, I’m walking to the bakery

On Amsterdam, across from the cathedral 

A middle-aged man wearing a tweed cap and

A limp blue Members Only jacket passes me

And a black face mask with a white skull

Printed on it, but death is a professor everywhere 

What have you learned he asks,

What do you know?

I turn the corner and the sidewalk’s full of students        

everybody’s parents sent them hoping Back        

elsewhere the professor hangs his jacket on his chair

Sighs off his cap tightens his mask.

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