Ode to a Long Ago Heat Wave

 

Ode to a Long Ago Heat Wave

At the age of eleven,
in a brick school like a pizza oven
I took a typing class,
summer steamy Maryland,
then would practice at home
bare top, sometimes bare bottom
in front of a fan.

At the age of eleven, a crush
can be crushing so when left-handed Ula
wild as a bobcat insisted typing is different
for a leftie, I said, “Show me.”
As the fan rustled paper,
as perspiration dripped like grease
from eyebrows, nose, chin
onto Underwood keys
making Ula’s fingers slip,
all I could think was freckles.
Dimple. Smile.

At the age of eleven, no matter the heat,
girls shouldn’t be topless with boys
even with innocent intent.
We knew this. Maybe not so innocent.
Ula proved – yes – left-handed people
type differently. Or at least one did.

At the age of eleven, a boy
should not say aloud to a girl
that her little breasts look lopsided.
Left bigger, right smaller.

Both pretty, I might add at age seventy-one
were I ever to see you again, Ula,
and do you also, as I right now,
wonder what might have been?

…..

First published in MOON Magazine. Thank you editor Leslee Goodman.
photo by Johanna Nikolaus