Today, I walked up to her desk.
It was messy, unlike her
that wears the shades of the rainbow
with a casual finality.
There were books,
predictably pertaining to the laws
unruly, unlike her
hair that falls neatly
to her sides.
A hygiene product sat whispering
to the laptop cooler
all black, unlike her
words that smother you with their certainty
and playfully warn you to stay out of trouble.
I will talk to her before I go.
Note: This poem was published on Algebra of Owls on July 22, 2016.