The college experience: A poem by Nayeli Carrillo

The white board stares at me 

as my eyes slowly drift.

8:30 a.m. class, un-caffeinated student, and puzzling math 

written in the smallest handwriting.

My foggy glasses don’t collaborate, 

and I’m left four rows away from the board unable to see.

I yawn.

This must be what the college experience is like, 

I think.

Time isn’t relative, 

there aren’t any chattering clocks in the room.

I yawn. 

My thoughts scream 

while my blinks get longer.

Don’t fall asleep.

I yawn.

I stare at the objects at my desk, 

a pencil, a notebook, and my fruit punch drink.

Then suddenly as if minutes flew by, I

 stumbled while sitting down.

Yet I was able to catch myself from falling 

and spilling my watered-down drink.

As I looked around hoping no one noticed, 

I find the board still staring.

As if saying you better not fall asleep.

I rush to write the notes on the board 

which accumulated from after my daydream.

I yawn.