An Unsent Note to a Literature Professor

This class
makes me feel like banging my head against something hard
and covered with sharp things.
Indeed, it would be infinitely more amusing to do so
than to sit through the entirety of your lecture.

I suppose beating dead horses with snail-like deliberation
Is one of your specialties. God Damn.

You do not fill meor any other student
with any sort of inspiration.
Indeed, I do believe you could make
a dead fish fall asleep.

Laughing and speaking at the same time has brought no one with you
on your profound and enlightening journey to Merrymirthland.
No, sir, I believe you are the sole occupant of the
Gee-Isn't-This-Prof-Great Train.
Besides, I do not think I would like to waste my money on the ticket.

Let me out of this desk and classroom.
I’m restless for a miracle to occur,
like someone knowing when to shut the hell up
and move on to the next poem for freak’s sake.

God, this is like some kind of academic water torture! The tap-tap of dripping water is replaced by
this poem this poem this poem this poem pain and suffering faith and love the themethemetheme and speaker tone and voice
this poem this poem what else what else this poem says to you
on and on endlessly beating on my skull and
twisting my guts in an antsy, unpleasant suspension,
tapping my foot with silent indignant vehemence.

By troth, sir,
I believe thou hath pissed me off
beyond the fury of the Furies.
How is that to your literary tastes, O Great Literary Professor?

By the by,
your fly as unzipped for the whole class the other day, and no one bothered to tell you.