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The Swing This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.


based on a painting by Jean-Honore Fragonard

With an air offlirtatious abandon,
I kick off my pink silk slippers.
Surrounded by thedark forest,
I am in the spotlight of summer sun,
bathed in glory,swinging back and forth
as you gaze at me from underneath.
As I swing, mypetticoats rustle,
each layer of pink satin and gauze
opening, blooming inthe face of calm breezes.
You wait for me, a dazed and sleepy smile
slowlyspreading across your face.
You reach for me, you in that heavy gray suit.
I merely laugh.
I have seen the likes of you before.
I have inspiredthat same smile,
that same slow cat-like stretch of your loins.
A winkand pout grace my face,
but they are not for you.
Do you knowthat?
Those porcelain angels stand on fountains
just behind you,
stillice-cold.
The angel presses his hand to his mouth.
"Shh," hesays. He knows. He's seen me here.
The same loving glance, the sametinkling laughter.
Still you reach for me.






This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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