Fall 2010, Volume 9

Poetry by Audry Burge

The Final Isn't Final Until It's Final

“I’m not cheating! Mr Jefferson.”
She watched him spread a black F
over the test circles on her paper.
“See me after class, Sara.”
The hatred in her black irises matched
the flint in his coffee-brown ones.
Impasse again, only this time it
was serious business. An F?
Her culture would not allow that.

She hugged her covered arms,
straightened her skirt,
glared at him until the bell rang.
The class shuffled out, some of them
smirking at the familiar outbursts.
Their papers floating behind them
on the table.

He closed the door. She spoke:
“I raised my hand. You ignored me.”
“I saw you lean down for answers.”
She scooped up the embroidered,
lumpy bag. Out tumbled a coin purse,
a key, a comb, a scarf, a sharpened yellow pencil.
She held it alongside the other yellow cylinder
with its jagged top and missing graphite.

She studied his silence, then questioned,
“Were your MCATs* too low?
Did you settle instead for biology?
Force your hatred of teaching
on students like me?” He blinked
away a small tear which turned to ice.
“I’m not changing your grade.”

She nodded. Repacked. Stood.
Circled the long rusari over
her mountain of black hair.
“I’m going to the office.”
“The principal will not change your grade.”
“I know. I want to tell him you touched me.”

                                       * Entrance exam for medical school

The Furniture in My Head Rearranges

Each of my days proceeds with its own kind of order:
Horoscope is verified, crosswords are penciled in.
TV and newpapers confirm a messy world.
Some days deck out in classes, board meetings,
shopping trips, condo dramas, bills. Late TV,
lights out, I pummel my punchable pillow

and power down. The inside world takes over,
synapses reach out, click, glow, pass secrets.
I awake to a night-scape that only makes sense
while I am there. Back again in Day’s domain
I wonder, what is forming for tonight’s tableau?

Voted Most Popular, BHHS Class of '39

At WJM Minneapolis, you served
cookies with wit and sly style.
Confessed a life in St Olaf’s that
left the Golden Girls agape.

To The Bieb and Rpatz you are sexy.
In Hot Cleveland you shared tasty
eighty-eight-year wisdom with a Jo-Bro.
SNL, the young’s domain, you rocked.
Tradition dictates that a lady
should always act her age.
You have rewritten that definition.
We have a new age appropriate!

           —Audrey (Strowburgh) Burge, Class of ‘42

 

BIO: Audrey Burge continues her studies at LBCC Poetry Workshop and Novel Workshop, and does a monthly written book review for the Signal Hill Book Club. She is a member of two Library boards. At 85 she keeps healthy by keeping busy.