By Thomas Page

I pilot around the room

A jigsaw puzzle of hoodies and laptops

Typing with the varied tones of an office-space

Looking over poems they will never hear

Looking for a wildebeest in the savannah.

Heymister should be my name as I go to the caller

What does this poem mean?

I try to peruse the poem on my feet

Cradling a blue taped laptop like a child

As I read a sonnet from the Portuguese

What does it mean to you?

Love…?

Why?

Because she talks about her lover.

All right, what devices is she using?

The student accepts her laptop back to reread it.

Metaphor

Everything is a metaphor,

Apparently,

Such as Freud’s cigars or Oedipus’ taste in women.

What else do you see?

Imagery.

What kind?

I’m not sure.

The barren trees outside catch my eye as I roll my neck

How is the image being used?

She’s describing how she feels?

What kind of image relates to how she feels?

I’m not sure…maybe this?

She points to something visual, I tell her such.

You good?

I’m good.

I take off again for the next heymister.

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