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School Dance

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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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