The child whispers words from the poem,
repeating the rhymes several times
as little fingers follow line by line
word by word, never skipping a beat;
shifts uncomfortably in the chair, coughs,
chokes, swallows the words.

Straight as a stick, the teacher poses
behind the podium. Catching a glimpse
of his image in a window he smiles
as he intones the last lines of
"The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner."

He shuffles papers and snaps a rubber band
tightly around the center and shoves them
into his case; without looking, impatient,
he shuts the book with a finger snap. Specks
of dust drift toward the ceiling.
The child looks past the teacher's image
at a hawk gliding over the greening hills.