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.
