DAY 64 - SPRING QUARTER 1967

64.

SPRING QUARTER 1967 - #MeToo

Trapped behind grimy window glass, the bee’s

translucent wings flap a feeble Morse code,

Let me out. Let me out.

She's gone to her math professor's

cramped office for help.

Knee to knee, they sit

on scarred gray metal chairs.

Captive, the bee crashes

against the window.

Her teacher is a short, mumbly man

whose words she can barely understand.

Without warning, he leans forward,

puts thick fingers on her thigh,

crosses the invisible line between them.

She smells his sour breath,

her leg burns where he squeezes.

Captive, the bee crashes

against the window again.

Uncertain about what's happened,
she looks up, sees his

flushed, sweat-filmed face

and greedy, pornographic eyes,

hears ragged, uneven breathing.

She grabs up the D grade

and makes her escape.

Captive, the bee crashes

against the window, flies free.

She doesn't report him because,

really, who would believe her?

He is, after all, a member of the faculty

while she's just a silly sophomore

who can't make sense of her homework.

Now certain she's over-reacted,

she never tells her parents.