2 September 2003 | Vol. 3, No. 3
If a point is that which has no part,
and my lines of breathless length
extend beyond the ends of the lines
given me by birth, then Miss Hammons,
my sophomore Geometry teacher,
was the plane surface of my teenage years.
We were a plane angle of a sort, inclined
to one another in a plane not lying in a straight line.
Her husband might know, or worse, she herself
might find out, seeing as the whole affair
was obtuse, mind as wide as my glands.
She had such acute angles, tight curves meant
for a brand new drivers