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

By
   Bangor

Alone and headed south on rt 2
I tap my index finger against the steering wheel
and worry about Tom
how he looked last night as I rose to go to bed.
He stopped cracking his knuckles
long enough to slug back a Miller
and trail me with his eyes.
I waited in bed a long while,
tugging the lint off the blankets
and hoping he would come up,
but he didn't.
So I knew it wasn't o.k.
but I didn't know what I had done.

He said nothing
when I wore the red blouse he liked,
though he once would've called me stunning.
And I made him stew the way he likes
with lots of onions
but he hardly touched it.
I wanted to kiss him, try to make up
but I was afraid he'd kiss me back.

So now here we are,
he's probably just getting up now,
headed for the kitchen and a little hair of the dog.
Me, 45 minutes from Bangor
and not turning around

by J. M., Barre, MA


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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Em28 said...
Apr. 14, 2011 at 9:34 pm
I love this poem so much! The ending, or very last sentence is my favorite. So powerful! Wonderful job!
 
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