Dwelling deep in his studies.
He writes and ponders, pen taping on blank sheets of paper.
The words flow from memories of old text books from the 1800’s.
His last lesson was botany.
Botany?
He was not suppose to be in this field.
He dreamt of carrying guns when he was young.
Cowboys and Indians fashioning an Oklahoman accent.
That “Good Ol Boy” is tucked away behind his rib cage.
His mind becomes muddled with grading papers and wine.
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