“Rita”

She was already in my bed,
waiting to be served—
like a punch bowl at the prom;
Pink. Elegant. Wet. Intoxicating.

Parts of her didn’t belong there,
with me, but thanks to the spike,
I got a taste of what I had missed
all those years ago.

And like the party drink, most boys
had already dipped in;
Bringing what they picked up, over
to their girlfriends on the other side
of the gym.

But tonight, she was all mine;
Dressed up in communion socks
and a plastic yellow rain jacket.
It wasn’t even cloudy outside,
but she came ready for anything.
I liked that.

narrative poem written on 12-21-2010 by: on mattkane.com
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