The University Investigation Into My Classroom
I sit in my chair and one of them
pinches my nipple with a pair of metal tongs.
One stands in the corner on the other side of the room
stretching a yellow glove up his arm.
The last is anorexic, and she is armed
with a needle, with a wire toothpick.
No one's black eyebrow stretches over
like a hairy caterpillar on a face.
None of them has hairy palms.
No missing teeth.
No mole on the cheek.
No birthmark like a small Portugal.
In the big chair at the end of a long conference table
I'm naked, and my wrists are tied
and there's a little blood like paint
at the corner of my mouth.
Next will come my first electric shock.
This is my favorite poetry.
When they're forcing me to confess
my other vices,
I throw my head back
like the stalk of my neck just broke
and cry out in exaggeration, "Pornography!"
The anorexic unties my balls.
The director unclamps my nipple like a businessman.
The professor and the dean begin talking
in friendly voices
as they take their notes for my employment file.
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