Joelene
dirty bloomers

I wanted it back,

so we could do it again.

This time longer,

and more detailed.

Not cold metal

against soft sand.

He could wet his lips.

I'd sit and wait

for him to do it.

Then we could

go again.

Maybe he could

hold my neck,

brush his lips

against mine first.

Or he could say

something like:

"man, you're beautiful."

"Look at you."

"God spent a little more

time on you."

Cheesy, but I'd have liked it.

Because lord knows,

I loved cheese.

And most especially

when Eric was eating it.

We were outside on the patio

and Eric was munching

on cheese sandwiches.

Occasionally, crumbs would cluster

on his lips.

It was cute when he used

his pink tongue

to get them off.

And I thought: boy,

he should have used

it while we kissed the other night.

Maybe,

it would have been better.

And my parents were questioning him

about the war.

"How the war?" Papaw asked,

shining his brown shoes with

that bad-smelling polish.

I pushed my top-lip up

to shield my nose while Mamaw

combed my hair.

As Eric spoke about

the big guns and blood-shed,

he kept looking over at me.

Again and again.

And I knew it was wrong,

but I made sure to sit

with my foot-bottoms

on my chair.

I was wearing a light frock.

Bloomers all in my drawers

and dirty baskets.

And Mamaw inputted:

"And how your girl doing?"

And I was wondering:

huh? who's 'his girl?'

And I knew it was coming.

Something greater than a war.

And Eric now looked weird,

biting unusually big into his bread.

"She's doing alright.

Went to stay in the Netherlands."

"Ah-okay. Nice gal, she is."

Mamaw answered,

and I was not a younglin.

I knew what 'your girl' meant.

So before I knew it, I was getting up.

Mamaw cast me a feisty look.

"I'm not done, child."

"I am NOT a child!" I almost screamed,

because I darn wasn't.

And when I ran off, I could feel Eric's eyes

on my back.

Because why did he kiss me

if he knew he had a gal?

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