were stained black under the nails
the flesh colored a watery brown
like chaw spit in the dirt
from working his tobacco farm all summer
The first day of class he lifted them up
for all of us cool kids to see
"This is why you don't smoke"
He didn't answer when we pressed
"Then how come you grow it?"
I don't remember his name
don't remember any of the math he taught
(except that beauty has perfect proportions)
but I do recall the buckeyes he handed out
to each of us restless students
after the dramatic show of hands
a token for entrance to an end of year party
held on his farm on the last day of school
I didn't make it, don't know why
And while I have never found the need
for geometry in my life since then
I use my clean lungs every day
and for that I thank him
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