work in progress
‘What is so interesting about that tree?
You seem lost in its mystery.
Was it Einstein’s apple you saw fall?’
(queer, it was
not shaped like the usual ball!)
Queerer still, she was no teacher
of English, but Math.
Why, I puzzled, did she rhymeth hath?
Ms Fouler was indeed
a rotund zero. She stood
like an Isosceles stuffed in a circle;
pointy headed,
her hair bunched
up in a Saturn’s plate;
her chin disappeared
into fatty layers of a drooping jaw
down to her rugby ball neck…
The thundering karma
cracked once again.
Ms Fouler was bent
to a right angular degree
her back a perfect stretch
like a ruler’s centimetres
parked to the perfect ‘T’.
‘Where is your head, Uranea?’
I gaped and froze
as if caught between
magnetic fields from pole to pole
her head made a Solstice