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I was the girl, ten
Too fair in her skin
Her melancholy wrapped in army-issued pants
Soft, worn
By him
Her ears plugged
Ringing with English lyrics
Feeding her
Carrying her through
The feigned concern
For a girl, twelve
In combat boots
Her budding chest emblazoned
With naked breasts
Hair aflame
Too weird for the fiends
Too skeptical for friends
Love a closed book
For a girl, fourteen
Who defiled her first edition
Dog-earing a page
For a boy in blue jeans and green Chucks
Who liked the wild spirit
And deep prismatic eyes
Of a girl, fifteen
Warm in her hoodie
On cold November asphalt
Trailing satellites
E.A. O'Connell
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