Back from a 12-hour pass，
My student lays her Camel on the desk.
The thin smoke rises in a rope that flutters
A little to her breathing， and her look
Beneath makeup1 like crayoning is not
The scared look of the cornered animal
I have prepared for， but a knowing smile.
Maria's twelve， a prostitute，
And tortures pets from curiosity.
Trailing her sleeping bag from one abandoned
Building to another，
Like a comic-strip Linus with his blanket，
She's come home forever
To serving lines and dayroom television
And parents with solid black ties.
I yawn， tell her to put the cigarette out
And go and wash her face
Maria with the tear
A cellmate tattooed2 on her cheek，
Bleeding before she has begun to bleed.
I offer her the chance to be like me，
Adult， in institutional repose3.
Instead， she pulls her blouse up，
Sticks her prepubescent breasts out， her idea
Of a taunt4？ A sin？
I'm touched，
But when she grabs my phone，
I lose it.
Give it back！
I almost shout， You little bitch.
When she shakes her head no
And hides the phone behind her back
I grab the cord coiled around her wrist
And jerk hard.
Being on her knees only makes
Her smile more mocking：
We both know what I am
Behind my desk， in my teacher's coat and teacher's tie，
With my pose of weary composurehell's appropriate
behaviour
A synonym5 for despair.
Calmly as I can， I reach
My hand out for the county's property，
While Maria， raking my forearm with her nails，
Gives me one more chance
To be myself.
