The girl lifts her skirt
To the boy from Biology
Who wouldn’t touch the scalpel
But now grips her flanks with nails
That should’ve been cut
She’s on his lap, back to the screen,
But she can hear the actors
Speaking in a language
That is all vowels and intrigue,
Whispers and casual lies.
The boy nears his finish
As the jealous adulterer drinks poison.
A man two rows ahead
Knows what is going on
But doesn’t want to miss a scene
By leaving to tell an usher.
Afterwards, the girl straightens her underwear,
Takes a seat, and struggles
To catch up on what binds
The room in this close, shared darkness.