I’m in love, love, love with
Patty-Penny-Cindy-Linda-Brenda
before I know what love is.
She is cuter than all the other girl
sin Mrs. Mendenhall’s class and
worth all of Uncle Dale’s teasing;
pinker than Bazooka Bubble
Gum at the candy store across
from Wiggins Street School;
sweeter than Saturday mornings,
cartoons and Froot Loops with
six extra teaspoons of sugar;
yum, yum, yummier than homemade
ice cream churned by uncles after
bailing hay on the hottest day of July;
more real than a bloody nose
on the school bus, my first
cigarette in the woods;
more thrilling than coasting my
bike down Glenn Road hill with
“look-no-hands,” or riding the
Wildcat at the Knox County Fair;
more terrifying than, alone, nearly
drowning in the Rose Lynn Campground
pond and no one believing me;
more pure than reciting Hail Marys
on Wednesdays for Confession and again
on Sundays for mass and Catechism;
as guileless as her smile for me,
only for me, holding her hand
only once on the playground, wishing,
wishing, wishing for just one kiss.
About David Sapp
