by David Sutton

    "I have a stalker,"
    my student tells me.
    He put beer bottles
    under her tires.  He
    telephones her at odd
    hours.  While she was
    in class, he broke
    into her apartment and
    did "weird things." The
    police told her they
    have some good  leads.  
    They're pretty sure this
    guy lives in Florida.  
    Just to be safe,
    a patrol car cruises
    by her apartment several
    times a day.  After
    chatting for a bit
    longer, about this and
    that and the other,
    she exits in a
    swish of thick raven
    hair and a billowy
    cloud of perfume. I
    couldn't tell if she
    was truly frightened or
    if she was enjoying
    all of the attention.

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