calculus

the class buzzed
with not conversation,
but silence.
there was a distant hum
as if you could hear
everyone around you think.

calculus, a vile subject
that slowly cooked the mind
and caused time to tick;
the second hand lurched
as if you flick a distant pain
away.

all around you were somber eyes,
half closed, half moons
eyelashes sweep
left to right, like a broom.
they blink away
saline and hide in peripheral
vision.

bones clatter onto desks
a miss in the search for
numbered buttons, plus signs
and equals.

every being in that room
a hallow bird or broken feather
the teacher stood, yard stick in hand.
each twist of her wrist
brought it down with a smack
into her open palm.
a quiet smack.

and whilst pencils scratch
in time with the second hand's tick
in time with the yard stick's smack
the room's still abuzz with
silence and the mess math makes
in one's mind