The Invigilator
by David Adès

The invigilator prides himself on his keen eye,

his steely attention, paces the room
with measured steps ensuring

that nothing is amiss, that no one

is stealing glances, hiding notes,
trying to slip something by him,

his practiced vigilance. He tries to keep

his thoughts in check, the rampant flight
of desires, fantasies that disturb his peace,

threaten order, but the girl in the third row

in the white blouse has two buttons undone,
the swell of her breast revealing itself

as she leans over, so that passing her he strains

to glimpse an edge of nipple, and she,
looking up suddenly, catches him.

Copyright © 2021 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.