The Test

The air is cool 

As are the chairs

The arms they fold and unfold

The knees they tremble

Pens tap away frustration

The fever rises:

Oh the watchman ticks on 

And by and by 

The time goes

it flies--though in perpetual non-motion

Her mind wanders.

All matters before mastered avoid plain sight

The question once answered now plagues her very spirit.

Oh the watchman ticks on

And by and by 

The otherlings watch 

they have finished.

Their eyes-- Oh their devilish eyes, they mock, they scoff:

Hell rises.

The cool

Destroyed,-

runs down her neck in liquid desperation.

The minion arises

The watchman stops,

His course has come due:

The Test Is Over.