Mr. Michael Channing PHD

After a momentary release from reviewing an ancient feminine poem, my eyes gazed up over the horizon and saw a wobbly and toddler like old man stumbling and waving his arms back in forth to give him momentum and keep his balance.

He was trailing behind a young pretty girl who was in my class and they were having a nice brief chat. By the way he laughed and the smile on her face I could tell that she had taken his class before. As she paid her dues and glided ahead and over the corner of the coffee stand the struggling man continued on his merry way.

Following behind was a boy, a boy and a girl. One of the boys was kind of chunky but in a joyous way. You could see them about to pass the brilliant enlightener and commenting on his stumbled walk. I don’t blame them for he stuck out like pig being swallowed by a python in the campus quad. If only they knew what kind of wit and sarcastic humor this glourious old toddler had about him. He was the teacher that never really “taught” me anything per say, but instead he reassured my instincts and feelings about a particular piece of literature’s hidden details and microcosms.

@ubiquitous