Poking
Fun
When I
was ten my friends and I
decided we'd scare Patty pig-
tail. Each time we swooped by
on Schwinns, a hair's breath from her legs
we'd make her squeal.
Glee filled us devil-red with each attack
that nearly poked our wheels
into her thighs. Then quickly we'd turn back
to start another pass. We loved her,
loved her hands raised to her cheeks, all
in awe of us, on Schwinns. But then I swerved
too soon or late and fell
down, at her feet. "You deserved
that," I thought she'd call,
but she only gasped "Johnny,
are you OK? Your leg
and lip look pretty bruised. Let me
see...Oh! It's bleeding." I would have begged
for anything but kindness then.
She helped me up, brushed
me off, asked me when
my mom got home from work. I rushed
off, tearless, silent, erect as any soldier,
my salty blood telling me I hated her.
Copyright © 2001 Joseph Carcel
