Saturday, October 23, 2010

Invincible Then

Wind whipped hair in convertible rides
Striding through fields bare legged
In cars with boys years older
Convinced that they would
Take you home when you
Asked and keep their hands.
On the wheel and out of
Your and their pants…
The wind blew your hair
Fingers of sweetly tumbled disarray
Your legs were neither scratched
Nor stung in those summer fields
And despite all warnings to the
The boys listened
And you were as you thought

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