Mary Christine Delea
Sex and Death
One student sees sex in everything we read,
but not in a Freudian way, or a frat boy way,
or even in away that would make me cancel
early morning office hours like that semester
I had a level 2 sex offender in class.
He sees it and is repelled, chastising
with tongue clucks each pervert author.
He has cracked the code
and his tests are wars of morality,
battlefields to prove how duped I have been,
how naïve I must be. He is sure I am innocent
of purposefully trying to deflower
their brains, those tender muscles that are too busy
to think about death—which I can’t help
but see in every dead author we read—
because there is sex all around them, the sex
I am forcing onto them as if I were groping them
in my office, the sex that has so obviously
obsessed everyone secretly until—
thank God for us all--he came along.