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-sixth grade-
*by someone who’s never let youth get in the way
of forming bad habits*
(frankie leone, just a man)
*
*she’s white
-
like snow, ivory
or cocaïne
-
a pretty enigma in my mind
-
i watch her and she knows it
-
amused*
*
*her hair’s black
like licorice, an autumn night
or smokers lungs
-
it’s unlikely she knows
how afraid i am
-
she’s short and fragile-looking
like crystal vases, old lace
or capsules of nitro-glycerin*
*
*i hoard enough courage
to give a birthday gift
i’d heard she’d like
-
a single white rose
-
terrified
-
i can’t look her in the eyes
or hear her voice
-
paralyzed
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i pass it off to a friend
to give in my place
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i watch
similar to the way i’ve watched
many times before
-
from across our middle school’s parking lot
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my friend speaks to her
hands over the flower
and points to me
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she smiles
-
bringing the rose under a delicate nose
waving to me, yelling “thank you”*
*
*we never speak
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but under the afternoon sun
i have hope
-
and could easily
be blown away by the light breeze
-
blowing through
our middle school’s parking lot
this summer day.*
*
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