The air is colder than the light in the air
No fog no smoke but the light hangs on the air
Like fog like smoke I’m walking to the bakery
On Amsterdam across from the cathedral
A middle-aged man wearing a tweed cap and
A limp blue Members Only jacket passes me
And a black face mask with a white skull
Printed on it but death is a professor everywhere
What have you learned he asks
What do you know
I turn the corner and the sidewalk’s full of stu-
dents everybody’s parents sent them hoping
Back elsewhere the professor hangs his jacket on his chair
Sighs off his cap tightens his mask
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“The Professor” by Shane McCrae, reprinted with the permission of the Sewanee Review. Copyright © 2021 by Shane McCrae.
Shane McCrae
Shane McCrae is the author of five previous books of poetry: In the Language of My Captor, which was a finalist for the National Book Award, the Los Angeles Times Book Prize, and the William Carlos Williams Award; The Animal Too Big to Kill, winner of the 2014 Lexi Rudnitsky / Editor’s Choice Award; Forgiveness Forgiveness; Blood; and Mule. He is the recipient of a Whiting Writers’ Award and a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship. He teaches at Columbia University and lives in New York City.
