An Angel With Horns

She sats on one of those seats on the last row of her classsroom.
She chews the same gum she had for lunch.
Her sleepy head rests on the wall.
Her short battered fingernails painted with rose red.
She sheepishly taps her fingers on her desk--as if they were drumsticks.
Her mind is in twists and whirls.
Smell of brewed coffee she thought she smelled.
She stared at her professor talking what embolism is, but actualy she does not care.
She twirls her dark brown hair, rolled her eyeballs and smacked her lips....
She exclaimed, "Oh, I think I have to put a period on this..."
And she did.