Millicent in Algebra

A serrano migrated to the back of the fridge
behind the peanut butter and mayonnaise,
like that darksome girl in eighth grade
slouched behind Michael & Penn,
who in her manner of breathing low,
stricken from the textbook, as unlikely
as a crow congealed in aspic,
brooding and wry and none too delicate,
brought heat or a fear of heat
— mountainous heat to the boys
and their otherwise bland arousals
— their dull quadratic equations
solved and she stillburning still.

Image: yaya momt on Unsplash

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