a poem for Andrew (don't worry; you won't gag)

Tomorrow Andrew will sit down to take the GRE
He will pick up his pencil and think of me
No, you dork! You need to focus!
Look at the question: two plus three.

My, this is easy, Andrew will think to himself
“Five” he will confidently write
But as he looks around he realizes that by mistake
He has wandered into Math for El Ed, what an oversight!

He must dodge Mia’s flying projectile
As to his trusty green bike he will race
He will become a blur in the crowd,
A look of grim determination on his face.

A blur of speed, a blur of might, a blur which will
Flatten an innocent pedestrian walking
To her poetry class in a dream world,
Obliviously dreaming and conjugating and rhyming.

To his dismay Andrew will have to stop to scrape her up
When he notices her eyes are blue like skies
That predict a thunderstorm in the near future.
Everything else from Andrew’s brain flies.

“Sara!” he will exclaim with joy
“Andrew!” she will exclaim back
(Only, of course, in a more feminine way)
Melodious chimes will issue from the clock.

“Blimey! I’m late for the GRE!”
Now Andrew’s exclamation lacks luster
As he hops on his bike once more
And rides off with all the strength he can muster.

Into the classroom he will dash
The gears inside his brain will turn
His pencil will fill in little dots
Information and answers and formulas will churn.

The small black dots that speckle his sheet
Will remind him of pupils of eyes
Blue eyes, to be exact, and dreamily he will gaze
Out the window at the somewhat stormy skies.

A squeak of a chair, a scrape of a pencil
Will bring Andrew back to that place,
Hurriedly he will finish the problem
And the GRE he will ace.