“The Cyborg Fails Calculus”

By McKenna Laird

Jaywalker, I stood too close to the curb

one too many times, I am no local.

Vehicle wheels splashed me, my ankles thick with rubber,

I don’t like wet,

I prefer to stay dry,

hold your jellyfish, hold your umbrella over your knees,

my sweater is drenched

the worms stick slick to my limbs

I hate it when it rains.

Rain, seawater, I don’t like wet either,

the drops collect on my console,

droopy tears migrating south

the salt on my teeth,

it makes my tongue curdle,

I hear your steady breaths,

the woosh out through your nostrils,

are mine steady?

Like the beat of a metronome

60 bpm

tick tick tick tick

“no calculators can be used on the exam”

does my brain count?

White powder, black wall

symbols and numbers,

I speak this language

raise your hand

nobody likes stupid questions,

there are no dumb questions,

something smells burnt,

sour melted plastic enters my nares,

my digits reach for the back of my head,

cold metal, string, rigid vents

it burns my mouth,

I can’t taste the flavor

my buds only recognize heat,

it leaves a stale dent,

there are onions in the room,

it’s free-floating in the air,

the anxiety of test-takers,

it’s not me, is it?

“there will be a curve”

I failed? I need to understand the material

I’m failing. Is this what you wanted?