The little boy presses up on me

his hot body and breath what 

I want to feel in the room

with chairs stacked too close

together as she reads poetry

from the front platform,

her hair wild and red and

covering her eyes like she is

embarrassed for us to hear

her words and I wonder

if I should care too

but the hot breath of sweet

air from the little boy’s mouth 

distracts me as it would

any mother so really I

never hear her anyway.