A septuagenarian colleague
in the English department
referred to me as “a spineless,
gutless, ball-less piece of shit
who doesn’t know his ass
from J. Edgar Hoover”
because I accused her in a meeting
of hoarding fifty copies
of David Copperfield in a cabinet
behind her desk in her classroom.
Of course, the books were there
when our department head
decided to take the matter
in his own hands and look for himself.
To which the old woman responded,
“That Graziano kid better watch
his back if he knows what’s good for him
because I’m going rip off his arm
and beat him to death with it.”
With that the meeting ended.