School Dance

June 7, 2013
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seventh grade
sixth period

cursive-scripted loose-leaves slipped

into lockers like mail-time

giggling girls
boastful boys

flood the narrow halls

howl their happiness

emphatic signs
only remind me

that time slips away

I must make my move

a wave of bodies roll
in a tempest

until finally there you are

like the sight of land

that sailors lost at sea seek

sweaty hands and
the deepest breathes of my life

those eight words cycle in my head

I bite my lip before I set them free

and make them real

here I go
all smiles and true

and then slowly with sorry eyes you utter his name

which stings more than some conjured excuse

with a left-over smile I fully insist

that "it's totally cool"

but as soon as you turn I silent sink down

into those narrow halls

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