“It’s quite a simple process,”
the astrophysicist-turned-lecturer remarked to the class
as he wrote the multi-step equation on the blackboard
while the coeds and their admirers
watched from their balcony seats in the college auditorium.
“You don’t know ass from Adam, do ya boy?”
barked the football coach
who stood atop the tackling sled
while his pupil drove the potbellied one towards the sidelines.
“It’s more technique than leverage or strength, honey,”
whispered Lisa, the former strip tease artist turned campus entrepreneur,
as she guided her handsome, hulky, blonde virgin
in the finer arts of romance
while wrestling in the backseat of a Pontiac Bonneville sedan
in the secluded area just outside the campus front gate.
“What is thrust?” the instructor nervously repeated to himself.
“By nature, it’s a reactive force
described quantitatively by Newton’s Second and Third Laws
and occurs when a system expels or accelerates mass in one direction,”
Dr. Keller replied to Amy, the nerdy front row student,
as he pointed to the example cited in the text . . .
although no one in the peanut gallery seemed to be paying attention
to the good man’s not so subtle crush
on the best pupil in the course.
“It’s a simple process, son, if you can get it in that thick skull of yours,”
bellowed the blow heart who turned a deeper shade of purple
as he leaned into the first-year linebacker’s ear
while the 300 pound freshmen turned a brighter shade of red.
“If it’s done properly,
it’s like dancing under a full moon
in the middle of the night, ”Lisa added
as she wiped the boy’s brow clear of sweat,
as they both swayed to the music
while she held his torso close then pushed away, then close again,
until the complete list of favorites ended on the mix tape.
“Can anyone give me an example of how this force
can be used in a man-made situation?
stammered the man with Einstein hair
after he crossed his arms and pondered the intelligence
of the perplexed audience in the mid-west, state run school.
and continued his talk until
the clock clicked ten till the hour
and the mass of bodies – tall, short, thick and thin – jammed their way outside
in anticipation of that night’s Valentine’s dance
in the student union.
“If ya don’t move your man off the line, he’ll kill our running back,
understood, numbskull?” the athletics coach yelled
as he grabbed the chin strap of his prized pupil’s helmet
before spitting out tobacco
on the young man’s cleats.
“That’s it, good, rock the baby, rock the baby gently,”
the veteran vixen breathlessly moaned into the freshman’s nibbled ear
as his thrust produced liftoff
and the two jettisoned cargo into the stratosphere
in Professor Keller’s new car,
— the one he always forgot to lock.
At the end of a two trying semesters,
the Ph.D. from Cornell
quit – citing a lack of passion for teaching mostly nincompoops.
The linebacker coach was also sacked
by his rookie
and the school
for immoral behavior in the men’s locker room.
As for Lisa and her lover in Dr. Keller’s Bonneville?
They’re now proud parents of a bouncing baby boy.
And that’s what the poetry of motion is all about…