Coral Lipstick

 
 
If ever a finger were eloquent,
it was Mrs. Hill’s, aimed in a motionless point
at some offending student.
She possessed a strength that needed no words,
although she usually added a few for good measure:
“Clean up your act,” she’d hiss,
“or you’ll be cleaning the board after school.”
Then in perfect balance she’d swivel on one high heel
and turn her back to the offender,
certain that her words—and finger—
had hit their mark.
 
At recess we retreated rapidly
to the playground,
buzzing like ten thousand angry bees
whose safety had been threatened.
 
“Weren’t you scared when Mrs. Hill
pointed her finger at you?” Christian asked.
 
“Nah,” I said with false bravado. “Nothing
about her scares me.”
 
Yet even decades later, the coral lipstick
she smeared on her thin, cruel lips
haunts me in my dreams.
 
© 2011 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 

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