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RIPPING APART OF ELAINE'S HEART.
Elaine feels
as if she's the center
of the world,
as if
she was
standing there
in all her frumpish nudity
for all the world to see.
She stands
against the fence
in the girls' playground
as the boys stream by
to theirs.
She knows John
was on the school bus;
he was across the aisle,
but she hadn't looked,
she gazed out the window
the whole way.
She had stood
by the the steps
of the bus
after she'd got off
hoping he would
speak to her
or touch her arm
or ...or what?
her inner voice asks
kiss you again?
his lips on yours
in view of all?
Silly fool.
She stands there,
hands in the pockets
of her dark green coat,
eyes lowered,
sucking
a boiled sweet.
Morning Frumpy,
two passing girls say,
have sex last night?
They walk on
giggling.
What is sex?
she'd asked
her mother
some months back
dirty things,
don’t' indulge
or talk about it
came the reply.
She stuffed
the words in a box
in her head
marked: dirty,
do not open.
Have sex? she muses,
was it a kind of gift
given wrapped?
She looks at the two girls
walking away,
arms linked,
giggling together,
dark green coats,
white socks,
blacks shoes,
shoulder to shoulder.
John had kissed her
the day before.
What was it for?
For real? A joke?
The impression
of his lips
presses still
on her lip’s skin.
She licks to see
if he's still there,
lingering
in some spittle
somewhere.
She can't get him
or his kiss
from her mind,
he resides there
like a secret tenant,
being,
moving about,
not heeding her,
not paying rent.
She feels the ends
of her black shoes
pressing on the tips
of her toes,
too tight, not right.
He presses against
the tips
of her soul
and heart,
slowly ripping
each apart.
