From The Double Xxv Poem by Morgan Michaels

That year Summer began early.The trees came to leaf quickly as the temperature soared but the dress code for exam week was unbudging: jackets and neckties for the men and full skirts for the women. The old campus simmered in a fever of matriculation. Extroverts became loners, the mouth-off, silent, the strong, weak and the brash, doubtful.Late-comers raced to be on time. Even geeks had qualms. Finally, the day was over.

That evening, Miggi stumbled home in a funk. Questions and more questions- all day long! In his head they swarmed again- revenge for lackadaisical study- questions whose answers he never knew and answers correct but lacking when due. He could think of few answered well. A bit dyslexic, he wasn't a good student, lacking enthusiasm for the role. He was embarrassed, but in a deeper sense, indifferent, to his rank. He'd passed- so he didn't feel hangdog. Actual grades meant diddly to him. But in Cuba, they determined job placement- so actually they mattered alot. Stragglers found themselves relegated to the bush.

Over iced rum, he heard himself say, 'it's the bushes for me', while mopping his streaming face, and, 'I really don't care- or something like that. His wife's spleen and even his daughters' prattling annoyed him hugely. On one hand he wanted to escape downtown, leaving the sensitive, jangling memories of the day behind or dissolving them in drink if they insisted on coming. On the other hand, he craved his bed where he could forget it all, till morning, at least. Exhausted and with a headache, he chose bed. The night was only a little cooler than the day. Half-covered by a sheet, he stared at the ceiling. His wife snored lightly alongside him. The bells struck two and he fell asleep. Toward dawn he began to dream.

In the dream he stood before the examiner, a urologist in this case, a powerful man dressed in a suit, despite the heat. His stocky.....