The Bottom Shelf Review

My feet scuffle across the floor,

Shoulders leaning like Pisa,

Slow and awkward.

A little bit of eye shadow,

No one will notice the four hours of sleep.

First class over,

What did we talk about?

A palm mark on my cheek

My backpack slung over my shoulders

Thirty two stairs downward

The elevator was broken

Can I just roll down?

The warm sun was not helping.

Walking into the café

The smell was like Peter Piper’s whistle

I walk over and hear the gurgling goodness pour

A dollar and fifty-two cents

Or was it forty-eight?

Black, two sugars. Real sugar.

Like the aurora lights at my feet.

Warmth and caffeine,

Yummy little black beans.

Class in five,

I’m at full throttle,

They will see it in my eyes,

The smooth-roasted scholar.