Child’s Play
Bruce McRae


We grew up hard.
We acted like children.
After school
we played school.
I carved my name
on the desk of my flesh.
I wrote mash notes
to Mary Jo Talarico’s
cotton panties.
Miss Duke
had a solid set of gams,
shapely calves
in silky hose.
I wanted to touch her.
I wanted to reach out
and run one finger
into Neverland.
Love was getting the strap
for talking back.
Love was detention,
our not-so-secret rendezvous.
I wanted to make babies,
little baby babies,
however that happened.
Like homework.

 

 

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