Evening. You strip off Khakis. Pour a full glass of Merlot.
Constructing course objectives is replaced by screens shimmering.
Two youths score booze for a party and hold onto friendship. A forty-year-old virgin collects action figures and learns to relinquish fear.
Polite laughter is replaced by roars, deep, knowing.
You check your email once. Reminder of another faculty party, where tenured profs promote collections and murmur inside jokes, while people brush by and you fumble for a hello.
Slam the computer down. Refill your wine and laughter.
Something’s stuck. You try and try, but don’t know how to get it open.
Grey Sparrow Journal 