Sweat Suit

Fifth grade and a realization:
My awkward stage was at its peak.
A pawn to my mother's fashion sense
And her dollar.
Sporting pale blue velour and corduroy,
Silken images of unicorns prance across my chest
As their cousins form a train on my calf.

My glasses stick out from the middle of my curls
Which fall about my head in spiraled brown.
My rounded cheeks supported the sliding frames.

My friends supported me.
Our laughter smoothed over our bumbling.
Moving in herds
Made it OK to say hello to a boy.
Once, quickly,
With all the prestige in the world
Riding on how he responds,
If he responds or retreats
Into his own watching circle.