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With Her Ruler and Her Bun
By Oscar S. Cisneros
High heels click down the halls
Each step a furtive click.
As she perpares to call role call
She straights up with just a flick.
I'm late with no excuse
In a ploy to draw her wrath,
To get a rise out of my muse.
I know she want to laugh.
RAP! She hits my nuckles
Ruler firmly clenched in hand.
While my will begins to buckle
I give in to her demands.
I sit in firm attention
and spy a pencil in her bun.
I'll wait until detention
When her tresses come undone.
So still and true she is
In her matronly atire
Who is this youthful miss
Who draws me in with her desire?
