the devil is a biology teacher

I've sold my soul to the devil, or rather, a teacher,

though what my pay is: I still don't know.

She cracks a whip of polypeptides

with a nice face and fake demeanor that are about as useful

as the archaic leftover DNA inside a mitochondria.

I see the phases of mitosis in everything around me

and pray that one day

I too, go through

cytokinesis because maybe with two of me the work will finally get done.

No, teacher, I am not an amoeba;

my boundaries and substance are not as flexible as you need them to be

and you don't need a microscope to scrutinize my suffering.

Yes, teacher: I know not to be off task in class,

but this is about biology.

In this life, everything is about biology because teacher,

you own my life.

Treat it gently?