A politician for the people, not payoffs!
He’s focused and fearless
and sometimes I wonder,
Is it ever rewarding?
For the People—Sam
Some of the people
mainly this person
is for a particular future,
my future.
For the People of Me!
Preparing for senior year—
college at RISD
East Coast bound
Rhode Island and me
where I will learn to be
my own masterpiece.
Setting my goals
setting my sights
painting my way into my own
picture.
In My Bedroom
I set up a fresh canvas.
Study the stark surface.
Prepare for an email from Gavin:
When can I meet this Romeo?
Or pseudo-apology from April:
R U mad at me? Don’t be mad at me!
I had to take Ralph’s call, right?
I place pink paint
onto the pale canvas
feet dancingpliépirouettelifting tip to toe
like Mom used to teach.
Not Jane.
A tiny hint of yellow, I
outline the edge of my shoe.
My ballerina shoe.
While the paint dries, I
open my laptop.
My BFFs both email.
I know them so well.
Gavin:Let’s face it. I must meet this dreamboat.
April:Sorry to ditch your call for that rat.
Ralph’s a rat, right?
My Gavin
my go to
my guru
my glue
my Green isn’t your color
my Geronimo
my GPS
my getaway
my gouache pusher
my Gwen Stefani
my Google
my Gatorade
my gossip column
my gaydar
my gems of wisdom
my granite
my gut instinct
my Geico insurance
my get-’er-done
my gofer
my guardian angel
my goalie
my German Shepherd
my girlfriend
my guy friend
but not
my boyfriend.
April
She’s flighty
funny
super bossy
fantastic busybody
flair for drama
and hair color
lip gloss
baggy shirts
and cool-girl kicks.
She loathes pretentious words like
ergo, nouveau riche, lexicon,
loquacious (although she is)
and describing people as fabulous
(apparently until now).
She’s constantly changing
constantly obsessed with her
boyfriend
not-boyfriend
boyfriend
not-boyfriend
boyfriend
not-boyfriend
problems with Ralph.
She’s the cheeriest person in every
hallway, classroom, café, lunchroom, gymnasium,
theater, shopping mall, taxi, or bus
unless, of course, she’s discussing
The Problem with Ralph.
Regardless,
she’s the world’s most loyal friend.
The Problem with Sam
Sam washes dishes.
She babysits her sister.
She folds her socks.
Sam saves her money.
She makes her bed.
She flosses.
Sam applies for college.
She wears clean underwear.
She washes her hands.
Sam studies for finals.
She eats her broccoli.
She waxes poetic.
She waxes the kitchen floor.
She attends political rallies.
Sam aims
Sam shoots
Sam misses
her
life,
love.
Next Time I See X
I’m in my favorite faded black jeans,
Gauguin’s Woman with a Mango T-shirt,
pink and purple charm bracelet,
and my Chuck Taylors.
I’m indie and girlie
at Café Hex.
Pretending to read
Life of Gauguin
I study the paintings
and X’s flushed cheeks.
I’m stealthy and artsy
at Café Hex.
He stops by my table.
X:After my shift, can I accompany you home?
He really says accompany.
No high school boy would accompany me.
Certainly not Ted.
Jock-head Ted.
High school Ted.
It feels chivalrous, so I agree.
Walking and Falling
We walk
down the tree-lined streets of Bucktown.
Sweet gardenias
blooming from balconies.
Sidewalk cafés
sprouting from nowhere.
Chicago in spring.
We talk
over the finer points of coffee.
Countries and climates
where beans come from
tasting bitter,
tasting bold.
X and me.
He wants to ride his Vespa
through the coffee fields of Columbia.
A tendril of hair flies in his face.
I tell him how I
hate Geometry
love Gauguin.
X:Sam Henderson. Smart and artistic.
Hearing him say it, I actually feel it.
Artistic.
I can sayanythingeverythingnothing
and he will understand.
Are high school boys really that difficult to talk to?
Or
maybe I forget myself when he
looks at me.
Secrets
It only takes his look
a glance.
And suddenly, shivers
a need.
I need to share my secret dream
of painting in Paris.
Even though I know my dad would think it dumb.
Flitting off to Paris to paint?
Me:I want to be an artist.
X:Looks like you already are.
He taps the Gauguin book in my arms
making me feel like a canvas
crisp and new
waiting for the acrylics.
It only takes my smile
a grin.
And suddenly, candor
a confession.
He swears he’s never shared his dream
of a media empire like Hugh Hefner’s.
His laugh is stealth,
like the funny things he says
just slip out the side, unnoticed.
X:Not the naked girls, of course. His media empire.
He smiles again in that way.
X:Hef changed the way people looked at stuff.
I’d like to do that.
His sideways gleam
sets the butterflies free in my stomach.
Who is this boy with these charms? The
se
beguiling gazes, languid movements
and crazy-new thoughts?
A breeze sweeps through the trees.
We stroll down the sidewalk. Me,
not wanting to ever reach
home.
In Flux
We pass a faded blue car
resting like Rip Van Winkle.
Rust spots eat their way through the fender
the front wheel’s locked down by the boot,
tickets wallpaper the windshield.
X’s car.
An Oldsmobile Rocket.
Says he loves old stuffrecordsvintage shirts
he touches my T-shirt
Is he flirting?
and cars.
He looks longingly at his.
I can’t tell if his touch is light or loaded,
he’s still looking at his car …
X:She doesn’t run right now so I’m storing
her on the street.
His cheeks flush
pink
crimson
His jet-black hair flops to one side.
He tucks it back like he’s folding a blanket
hand to hairtuck behind earrepeat.
Two guys pass us.
Guys:Great party.
They pat X on the backsmile at mewalk on.
People know himlike himparty with him.
He places his hands in his pockets,
bows his head.
Is he embarrassed to be with me?
I study his
T-shirtfadedhole starting along the sleeve
shoelaceuntiedtrailing as we walk.
His life is—
in a cast
in the boot, or
in flux.
In flux.
Much more exciting than—
in high school
in political rallies
in finals week.
Me:Well, this is me.
X:A brownstone.
He nods, flicks his hair.
Melanie peeks out from behind our bay window.
X:Your sister?
Melanie rests her face against the glass, staring at us.
Me:She came with the house.
X:You’re funny.
Inside my head,
I throw a party for my brilliant wit.
Outside my head,
I smile.
X:So, want a lesson in coffee-tasting next time?
I nod, casually.
Neurons snapping in my brain.
A date?
A date!
A date?
A date.
Saturday afternoon
casualcoolcups of coffee.
X:You’re going to love it.
He winks
I smile
hoping I’m also not blushing
pink
crimson
burgundy.
Me:Okay. See you Saturday.
Half Full
cup cup
fill me up
hot steamy beverage caffeinating
my heart
like an extra large latté you foam
my brain
dreaming of nothing other than the
taste of your lips
on mine
the smell of your hair
brushing by
the heat of your shoulder
bumping me
percolating under my skin
your dangerous smile keeping me up all night
like a strung-out mess
filled to the brim and still thirsty
for more.
I drink it all in
and wait for
you
to pour me
another
cup cup
At School
April looks at me, knowingly
shifting her pile of books
staring me up and down.
April:So, who’s the boy?
She’s good that way.
Gavin tips his bowler hat to us as April whines—
I’m shutting her out
storing secrets
she knows there’s a new love
and he’s not Ted.
What gives?
Gavin:You didn’t tell her about the old guy?
Me:Don’t be jealous.
April:Old guy? Am I missing something?
Me:He’s in college, well, was.
Gavin:And tall. And cute.
I blush.
Me:He is cute. And a free spirit.
April:Free spirit?
Ted walks by,
arms around some
sweet-looking sophomore
speaking softly, saying something sports-related
probably.
Hespots me
stops smiling.
Ipretend not to notice.
Ted can move on, right?
Feeling my nervous energy,
April springs into action—
Where’d you meet X?
How old is he?
How cute?
Then inevitably,
something triggers her into a story
about Ralph.
She is, after all, obsessed with Ralph.
April:He lives with musicians?
Think their band’s as good as Ralph’s?
Here we go.
I listen to The Problem with Ralph
up two flights of stairs and
through the final bell.
There will be more
to come on this subject
at lunch.
This is as certain
as homework.
High School Ted
High school boys play with toys they are, yes, they are that young. High school boys play with toys they are,
yes, they are that young. I don’t
know why they like to play with
toys, act like boys, make loud noise
just to annoy us, when the girls are growing up. They play with toys it
gives them joy, but girls don’t see
the fun. It’s not fun, no longer fun.
It’s dumb. How come they enjoy it? High school girls like to shake their brain, bounce their curls. They want
a guy not a boy. They want to flirt. What’s the hurt? They want to court.
Go out in short skirts. Paint the town red. Go head to head. But mostly what they want to do is anything and everything and something else but be with that boy, that high school boy,
Ted.
Chemistry
Mr. Tanner scribbles
Antoine Lavoisier
on the whiteboard.
April looks at me like,
Who the heck is that?
She really should crack open a chemistry book.
Mr. Tanner scratches,
conservation of mass
and faces the mass of blank stares.
Mr. Tanner scribes,
mass that’s isolated cannot change over time …
remains the same … unchanged.
As Mr. Tanner explains,
I contemplate my own chemistry.
What is X doing right now?
Is he sitting at some other girl’s table?
Is he thinking of me?
Is he working right now?
Or hanging out with his roommates?
Is he doing twenty-two-year-old stuff?
Artsy stuff?
He’s
certainly not doing
Chemistry class stuff—
listening to a teacher
with male-pattern baldness
ramble on about matter.
And what matters is our chemistry.
But how could X possibly connect
with a high school girl?
A girl like me?
An isolated mass waiting to be unstuck.
Changed.
April passes me a note.
Carefully, I uncurl the paper and read it.
Another quandary over Ralph.
Talk about bad chemistry.
Lunch
We are the usual suspects
at our typical table.
April slides in first
Gavin snuggles up to George,
squeezing some room for me.
I plop down my lunch of
Twizzlers
PB&J
Chex Mix
Twizzling and crunching as
The Problem with Ralph, Pt. II begins.
April:What comes after this?
George:What’s the big deal?
Gavin:What’s a few drugs among friends?
April:I just don’t see how we can be together when—
Gavin:You aren’t together!
George:You aren’t together!
Gavin and George make goofy love eyes at each other
for their same response.
Me:Can somebody clue me in here?
April:Ralph’s doing—
Gavin:Things.
Me:Things?
Gavin:Bad things.
Me:Bad things?
I sound like a parrot.
April:Drugs, okay? Ralph’s a druggie!
George:Honey, please! It’s just pot!
April:For now, it’s pot.
George:Plenty of people smoke pot.
Gavin:You do pot?
George:Sure! Now and then.
Gavin:Oh? And what else do you keep from me?
Gavin deflates.
Up next—The Problem with George, perhaps?
April:Hello! Can we focus on me?
I focus on April,
tell her it’s not a shock
really
Ralph being one of the most
unmotivated guys I know.
Me:You’re dating someone beneath you.
Gavin:Date up, honey, not down.
Me:You could do better, perhaps.
Gavin:Sam’s right.
Ralph’s not so high on the dating scale.
Get it?!
Gavin laughs at his play on the word “high.”
George rolls his eyes.
April looks pained.
I finish my Twizzlers.