Askold Skalasky


Some students taking tests,

their pencils poised in semi-unison

over the answer sheets before them,

like bows about to move in the string section

of a high school orchestra.


They haven’t yet recognized the blankness 

of the enterprise, manualed and supervised

to the last digit on their pale green forms.

There’s a large clock standing upright

on the proctor’s desk.


Its wrapping stripped away,

it glares in Chaplinesque aplomb,

the little mustached hands

moving across its grinless face 

like some rotund, gesticulating dictator.




More poetry from Askold Skalsky

Colloque Aux Folies Bergere
The Persistence Of Summer
Les Adieux
Elephant Herds


Askold Skalasky is a former community college professor, whose poems have appeared in numerous small press magazines and journals, most recently in freefall and The Dos Passos Review.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s