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.
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