In U.S. Politics Poem by Genevieve Nolan

Sitting unfocused in my seat,
my leg shaking,
my brain aching with
mixtures of tiredness and
impatience thoughts.
My hands are pouring down
with sweat from the heat
wrinkles the line notebook
paper that I'm writing on,
my thoughts distracted by the
pouring of water on my hands.
I'm feeling claustrophobic
in my body.

I start to think paranoid
they might look at me in disgust
when they see how my hands drip
off the sides. Something out of
my control they might not see.
More like a song quality piercing
I'm unwilling to get up in the middle
of class and walk out even though
my seat is closest to the door.
The room feels like its baking.
My hands dry as soon
as I leave the room.