“a little something for your pocket,”
the girl in the velvet headband
gave me a cluster of ones
well after her younger brother
volunteered to hand me
a week of groceries.
maybe because I winked,
pressed at my hip to ask,
“How’re you, Dreamboat, and
what brings you here?”
always a gathering after church
that sends my skirt riding higher
while I walk back and forth,
loving this heat and fried release—
school’s out for now
and my mind concocts poor thin milkshakes.
I remembered who chafed at wheat,
who wheezed and busted
when something on the kids’ menu
glimmered too brightly for caution.
they came again,
khakis, skirts, ties,
opals and a feather across her legs—
treating me to convenience, a sore dance
I had yet to master and learned
that practice leaves a lifetime of scuffmarks.