darling: poems by colleen cosette goodman

suburban summer/maybe fiona apple was right

girls sway sticky and soft in crop tops
at boys' feet. the summer brings that
sweet smell of hair dye and shaving cream
and setting powder,
girls looking intent in the mirror
and picking at their skin,
scratching the strap of sandal on their ankle.
they are lonelier than ever and rolling in it,
girls like rolling pins laying flat their own selves
to find in music, perfume, boys who are broad
and tall and smell like old spice,
who they will complain about when summer is over.
the romance of fucking in his car at night;
he's going to Keene state and he's gonna
double major in Econ and trailing his
dead-blue eyes on girls who look
twenty-one but are sixteen. 
when they are done he drives home.
the car shuttles and clicks, and Post Malone plays.
she swallows and says nothing,
just as she is told.