On Being Led Down The Foreign Language Hallway at 3 am.

I dreamt last night I hi-fived my high school latin teacher.
He smiled and conjugated the plurals of agricola in the nominative,
then asked me to leave.
So I walked out the paper mache door jamb, which transformed
into a statue of Caesar Augustus once my back was to it.
He pointed down the hall, walled by ivy with veins thicker than leaves.
I shuffled two and a half lengths, like I was told, and the ceiling tiles
fell in, blasting into gray powder as they hit the floor around me.
So I snaked around the wreckage and looked back. He was still pointing,
now at a clock beside me, with hands of black construction paper and a face of vanilla yogurt.
Then it beeped and I sat up.




-brendan