Love, Lose, And Repeat

Stay Young

I wish I could talk to the girl in pigtails. Holding hard to the rust-splintered rails, she climbs into her 6 AM bus. She's the girl who makes a fuss and flicks her feet when mommy puts her in pants. She prefers the soft touch of silk--of satin. Dresses that graze her knees when her skips over four on the chalked, hopscotch floor.

She sits near the back hitting herself hard against its rubbery back. She plants her pink lunch pale in a spot, next to a boy, wearing mittens her grandmother bought. I wish I could say "don't let little boys break you, okay?"

Even if he calls you cupcake and brings you to his private lake, counts your freckles, buys you coffee, and knows how much creamer you take, don't let him touch you--everything he says is fake.

Because he will still, text his ex and see her still, stay out all night, and leave you with the bill. Say, "Cheating ain't nothing, it's just shopping around" and on his good days he won't slap you around.

Its a Monday in December--cold air is expected. On slippery red tongues, flakes of snow are collected. Before today the last time it snowed was sometime last Saturday. Now in hunks of hail it sticks to the sidewalk, defiled by dirt.

If she'd listen now as her nose dripped slimy, sticky yellow, I'd tell her "no matter what they say or do, they only pretend to love you."

It's to take you away and trick you. Don't let them prick you and pluck off your rose. Once it's ripped, it never regrows.
                                Stay young.      
                                    Stay-on-this-bus.

And when mommy puts you in pants, don't make a fuss. I wish you'd stay this young and free, or get off at the next stop, or just listen to me.

She unzips her coat and clears the ball of phlegm fogging her throat. Sticking her grandma-bought mittens in air, she waves buh-bye to mommy with care. If I could, I would zip up her coat and say, "Just don’t let them fuck you okay," even though I know -- I will still do it anyway.