No time for love, Doctor Jones
Third row seat, hand in popcorn
Soda stalled halfway to lips in the straw
I glimpse you for the first time
Girl giggles stall as I draw my first womanly breath.
Dusty fedora for warding off poison darts
Sweaty handled bullwhip at the ready
Clutch that golden idol
And run, run right to me.
Too young to have ever dared to taste
The “now and later” sticky lips
Of the boys in my 7th grade class
But I wanted to do something with you.
Stirring and squirming in my seat
I never noticed that feeling before.
In breathless wonder did I hang
The edge of my seat barely held me.
Later I would crest the wave
And later I would reach the beach
But never like that, there in the dark
Not even with top men working on it.
(c) Stacie Ferrante
2-23-08
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