We’re not willing yet to let you go, but dirty glasses cast shadows like a dank cloud across
his lean and pink cheeks it’s for the best he says with lips like a fish and his hands, neat
and trimmed like a woman’s or lawyer’s if you take a little time off.  Maybe you go home.

Looking at your file I see while attending our university
and here he makes eye contact to say
you more than attended but gave your fluids to the place.  Then he says why:  your mother
and several other relatives passed away.  Now the storm: it sounds as though your town the hurricane

did toss. The subject changes after mass pastoral apologies.  Many troubled students reference you so
it’s not that you don’t have friends among your classmates or administrators.
Pictures of his happy
kids and fat happy wife grin from desk, wall, a homemade lampshade.  Each blank joyless

face insulating him.  We asked you to come in and talk to us, but you continued through and your grades
have dropped considerably.
I tell him I didn’t want his help and that to make what happened there
mean something, to make Kimily go back, to turn as my old man shriveled even more I needed

redemption.  Effervescent office soft-chaired and pillowed per some course he must’ve took waits
for response.  Well, George, maybe you’d be better off back home. Then honest: You’re scholarship ran dry.


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