by CARA MCMILLEN - February 12, 2021
One step in,
the room is cold,
the atmosphere aids demoralization,
alludes to degradation.
Four steps in,
the chair is waiting,
for in the next hour,
your soul must be stalled,
sanity must be silenced.
Five minutes in,
eye-contact must be avoided.
God-forbid, she asks you
for an answer
within a circus of cluelessness.
Thirty minutes in,
your desk remains empty
for you were in the hospital all last week,
the late assignments
tossed into your bag with the rest.
The bell rings,
you falter out of the room
hoping not to stay long enough
for her to call your name.
One step in,
the cycle repeats
as it will twice more—
a schedule of torment
designed to produce intellect.