I took an art class this morning
“How to draw reflections and shiny objects”
The teacher showed works he’d done –
A particular one, copied from a postcard sent in 1939,
intrigued me

I asked…
     “Was the moon in the original picture?”
He replied…
     “No, I put it in.”

“It’s art!” the woman next to me spat
   loud enough for only me to hear
   such distain in her voice.

Later, I said something complementary about 
her drawing, and was met with a stony silence

                I realized – she hated me –
                                    and
                I had no idea who she was

I’ll not sit beside her at the next class
Not that I’d recognize her if she’s there
Mean people have nondescript faces

But I’ll know her.                                                                                                                 She’ll be the one glowering at me.