Thursday, March 13, 2014

centerfold.


We had settled on riding the city limits.
Passing the old playground
where we first
saw a picture of a naked lady.

We were content
with the silent treatment
until we got home.
This whole experience should have been better.
“Remember that song?
Remember this?
Remember that?
Remember when we all
went to the end of the year dance
and we all got drunk and
Amy and Mark got lost in the woods
behind the gymnasium?”

Memory lane carries a toll, and some of us have over paid.

I remember that picture of a naked girl,
how Mark swiped it
from his brother’s collection
of flesh colored treasures
that was kept in secret places in his brother’s room.
We once got yelled at for sneaking about 
looking for his also secret collection of baseball cards.

Hiding away the past is a learned behavior.

I remember being unsure how to react
and the look on most of our faces
told me, I wasn’t alone.
We hooted and hollered,
mimicking the reactions
we’d seen on television.

Her pose
persuading flaccid penises
and the hidden ejaculations
accomplished only
fragile embarrassment
and the act of
rivaled excitement
that told nothing
of her talents.

Children caught in the act of pre-designed lust.