This classroom without a scratch paper bin teaches sin, 

cos, tan. Like how 26 letters slip out of your command

when a teacher calls on your unraised hand,

you have less time to position all 206 bones 

before the next camera

click

Behind a cute smile, you measure the angles 

click

of your hands on hip, on head, on heart 

click 

knees and elbows ruler-straight 

click

posing rules protractor-precise

click

what’s closer to the camera is bigger

click

don’t show too much whites of eyes

click

keep your thumbs out of pocket

click

ignore out-of-pocket comments

click

“fat,” “big legs,” “wide hips” 

click

don’t let the camera that adds 

click 

10 pounds take anything away

click

you can’t let anyone see the

click 

degree to which you focus 

click

during continuous 

click

motion you master

click 

discreet

click

thought 

click

in the camera screen 

you see yourself frozen.

Those captured moments hold

your diploma.

Outside this classroom, there is constant recess ruckus from those

who love the sunset as it burns to dark 

who wish on shooting stars which are falling hard

who praise the notes of a soprano’s self-suffocating song

who worship the product but damn the process that comes along.

They laugh at your lessons they didn’t learn.