The Professor

I get there early and I find a chair.

I squeeze my plastic cup of wine. I nod.

I maladroitly eat a pretzel rod

and second an opinion I don’t share.

I think: whatever else I am, I’m there.

Afterwards, I escape across the quad

into fresh air, alone again, thank god.

Nobody cares. They’re quite right not to care.

I can’t go home. Even my family

is thoroughly contemptuous of me.

I look bad. I’m exactly how I look.

These days I never read, but no one does,

and, anyhow, I proved how smart I was.

Everything I know is from a book.