In Biology class, you see
The girl in front of you holding a coffee cup.
A mug, no top.
You wonder if she brought it from her dorm,
About a quarter of a mile away,
Cooling between her long fingers all morning.
You know you could never do such a thing,
A brain with holes that spatial perception falls through
Like drops of rain through a sieve.
Nothing is caught.
You want to write about your inadequacies
But you canít find your pen.
It takes you three minutes
To recognize the pencil bag at your elbow.