Poem For Unwashed Boys

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.
Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Poem For Unwashed Boys

Comment Section/Memory Hole

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s