Eve as Girl with Snake Duty in 7th Grade Science

The farmer boys’ fingers

graze me, but I am not a field

of wheat. My cells have no walls.

I find this as interesting as Stan,

the class snake, who slides

around my chest searching for heat.

Stan gets anxious before he sheds

because his eyes film over like sheets

of milk. He can’t really see.

Similarly, I can’t seem to get a grip

on my body. Boys who pinch my ass

and slip notes in my jeans lay blame

as if it were flattery. It almost feels wrong

not to fall for it. Teacher asks me to lick

a slide to magnify my spit. Under the lens,

corkscrews of bacteria breed in my bad

choices. They chase sweetness, leave waste.

No one will look at my mouth the same way.

Every two weeks, I feed a mouse

to Stan. Some say he is monstrous.

I say it’s natural, but he never eats

until I cover his cage. There’s nothing

I can do about his body, which always

lumps into shape, a dead giveaway.