Class of the Deaf

Teacher, old creep with silvery hair,
a black hole at the back of his head
that sucks stars shining bright in the vacuum sky.

Deaf to our interactions – jokes fly over his head
like black ravens, the omen of a death
that can’t come any sooner.

Our heavy heads make love to black sordid desks.
To their quiet, muffled moans, he is deaf – and to the sweet
foreplay of our fingers running through the aluminum buttocks, freezing – he is blind.

Who is this hollow old man?
Is there life in his eyes?
or are his eyes, flushed like ours,
waiting for the black ravens’ omen?

By Omar Jamal

Originally written November 12, 2018

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