Monday, November 9, 2009

a poem Bill is a Barn Door


Bill is a Barn Door

We painted him there
on the old barn door
me and her
the summer we turned fourteen
we stood on an old box
and kissed him
pretended he loved us
he was the perfect man.

Jimmy next door saw me one day
and touched me in a sympathetic way
so I kissed him instead
left you alone with the door
your only friend

You hadn’t crossed the state line
to be alone
the endless summers we had spent
in white gauze dresses
swimming
kissing bill

Then from the night you came
red on you dress
you smiled with satisfaction
Jimmy walked in the dark
not meeting my eyes

Then it was just me and
Bill the barn door

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