Second grade and I tried to get
Cecilia Smith to kiss me,
but she was a Foursquare and I
wasn’t anything—I just
wanted her to kiss me.
My skinned knees and elbows
wanted her to kiss me.
My pocket holes and frayed
laces wanted her to kiss me.
So did the swings,
the monkey bars and the seesaw.
Miss Luna said she could do it,
and the bullies said
they’d make her do it.
Even the kids fresh from Saigon
(fresh from the school of death
and fire) wanted her to do it.
And Jesus did. Judas did.
But she was a Foursquare.
She never did.
Creative humour, satire and other bad ideas by Ross Murray, an author living in the Eastern Townships of Quebec, Canada. Is it truth or fiction? Only his hairdresser knows for sure.
I'm Michelle. This is my blog. I write about women and fatness, expound upon semi-coherent thoughts I have in the middle of the night, and offer tough love to those in whom I am disappointed; they are legion.
I love this.
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True story. Write what you know.
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