There’s a young couple
going at it outside my classroom.
A boy with long black hair
and a vintage Led Zeppelin
Houses of the Holy T-shirt
has a narrow-hipped girl pinned
against a locker with a hand
wedged between her thighs.
I know I should break this up
before the girl ends up pregnant
and her parents sue the district,
particularly me, for negligence.
However, I decide to say nothing
because earlier that morning,
as I was pulling out of my driveway,
I saw two neighborhood dogs
humping in front of my garbage cans
and never said a word.