Unconverted
I carry education like an ulcer.
Which is not to say badly,
but in secret, acid
as the time for lunch passes.
Mash chickpeas.
Dry mint.
Mussel risotto and forget
what you held,
labs and mornings first.
First blood. The value of it.
Not for you to say.
It follows, though, in shades of thirsting,
butting foxholes. The future: midflight crisis.
You're hollowed matriculate.
Which is not to say badly.
by Meghan Ehrlich