I’m sorry, Mr. Fiamaro. You tried

to teach us the order of the world:

through math, of math, in math;

discipline, order, correctness. 

I’m sorry I challenged your authority,

the 5’1″ Math General

right hand slipped between

the buttons of your coat.

I understand sine now, and

cosine and tangent.  The sine of 3

is .0523359, not seven like I said.

(I was just kidding.)

I can still see the problem

written backwards,

in chalk, on the back

of your brown tweed sport coat. 

I see the clarity of mathematics now:

the harmony; the balance;

even the therapy. 

(But not the tyranny.)

I’m sorry I called you Mr. Mia Farrow,

and then denied it.  I was out of order.

I violated the properties of your class.

Originally appeared in Long River Review