The Skyping.

She appears to us
through the Skype screen,
in a blazer, white turtleneck,
and the "impossibly tiny eyeglasses"
of her generation.

The technological advances in interviewing
have brought the committee into a seminar room,
and the connection (having been acquired my someone - not me)
allows us to peer into her apartment.
I confess I feel voyeuristic.

While she answers my colleagues' questions,
I'm scanning her wall of books,
a strange ceramic owl,
the flitting tail of a - well - a cat?

When it is my turn, I speak too loudly.
She recoils from her little webcam,
and my colleagues chuckle.

"Can you see me," I mean to say,
but I say "Can you hear me" instead.
More laughs on my side of the transmitting abyss,
and then - 2 seconds later - her own chuckle.

I get the hang of it when the ball
gets passed to me again.
"Can you imagine," I say,
"a use for Skyping with a student?"

(I'm off book. My colleagues gasp.)

"Yes," the candidate says.
"They could bug me when I'm at home."

2 second pause for her, I assume,
and our laughs reach her gustily.

After the connection is terminated,
my colleagues compare notes.
I stare into the black eye of the webcam
and wonder if she's still watching us.