I’m going to try and recreate what I originally meant to say, earlier today, but since it’s late and I’ve spent two hours doing crowd control for work, and I am tired and actually just stress-ate a big chocolate frozen yogurt, and now definitely and absolutely have to go the gym, I think we’ll add an old post to the poetry category and compose an off-the-cuff poem.
To the person who googled the name of my first (or second) boyfriend, and found my website instead:
It is true that I can’t quite remember,
if first I “went with” Tom or Curt;
they both had azure eyes, strawberry blonde (truly! Strawberry blonde!)
hair, and the broadening shoulders of thirteen year old boys who drink a lot of whole milk, and burned it off –
but certainly Curt was my first kiss
underneath a tall oak tree (seriously! A tall oak tree!)
on a late spring day, sometime before I wore
contact lenses, so my glasses got in the way.
And oh, that kiss! I thought I was a lesbian.
it was a very junior high kiss, and I kept one
eye open the whole time to watch for my dad’s
old blue jeep to come rumbling downfirst street
Curt broke up with me four weeks later, who
knows why, really. But in case you googled him for a job interview, or for a background
check for a first date, or maybe you ran into him on the street in some exotic place,
perhaps a chance meeting in a
or doing aid work in
and thought, “I’d like to know him better” – well, you
should know four years later he apologized for breaking up with me, and
I realized the world between thirteen and seventeen
isn’t always as big as you think it is.
And if, when you googled his name and found information
on a semi-prominent African-American politician,
that is not who I kissed.
And thank you, for reminding me of my casual attitude
towards real names.
I’m in the process of changing them all.