Sonnet; Band Practice
We met beneath the highschool bleachers where
The benches faded in the chilly mist
Sweat-shirted and fifteen I met her there
And touched her on the arm, and nearly kissed
her lip brushing my lip, so I could taste
The sugar in the Maybelline she wore
And breathed, in shy and startled haste
The grown-up note of perfume in her hair,
And for a precious second our lives stopped.
Invasion broke our private sphere that day;
The kids who searched the grass for quarters dropped,
The drum major called my section into play.
So I ran, and took with me a sense of loss
And the scent of AquaNet and candy gloss.
