In Progres...

It’s hot out and my mouth tastes like the window screen
Holding me suspended in a second-story apartment, surrounded
By brick and mortar and the hot, black pavement laid fresh
That morning by the dark-skinned men in dirty jeans. I put the radio
In the window so they could hear it, I don’t look at them but
I know they’re looking at me, I’m only fourteen but I know what my
Legs look like in their eyes. Later I’ll think about their daughters
At home, my age, what do they think about then?

Summer winds are too lazy to even try to be a comfort, the heat
Too heavy for them to blow around. Through the screen I catch the scent of
Chlorine from the pool but it won’t open for another hour. No one
Comes out yet, it’s ten in the morning, too early to play and too late to sleep.
Flip flops on the hot sidewalk waiting for the ice cream man to come by
Only one dollar for the malt cup and seventy five cents for a bomb pop for my
Sister. Our hair streaked blonde from hours in the pool, baby oil suntans
Turn our skin golden brown, white scars stand out as medals of honor from
Jumping our bicycles over curbs and swinging tennis rackets at
Each other instead of at the ball.

Another Place

In traffic we’re sitting and I’m watching
The world around me.
In front of me is a red pickup truck,
An older couple inside, hands at ten and two,
Sitting up straight and driving the speed limit.

I close my eyes and climb in with them
And we go home.
I lay on the bathroom floor, cool on my skin.
Rose petal pink tiles like ice cubes, smooth and
Shiny. The room smells like baby powder and
Decade old Estee Lauder. An ashtray sits on the sink,
Small brown circles on the counter where the
Cigarette has snuck down to kiss the granite.

Sun glides through the curtains over the toilet,
Caressing dusty bottles of age old beauty, brown
And thick. A silver tray with mirrored bottom reflects
A rounded back, a grey head, a spine curved by
Time.