Circa 2005
& for some reason,
(unbeknownst to me)
they trusted a student
with the keys
to the high school auditorium.
Two, thick,
metal keys
engraved with three
words that would tempt
the whole of my disguised devilry:
1. DO
2. NOT
3. COPY
Eve to fruit
Pandora to box
Me—
to a couple of squeaky doors.
I’d hush you as we
teetered the catwalk.
We’d speak
in whispered contraband.
Forbidden acts
in the high up off-limits.
“The taxpayers don’t have to know.”
There was something
so fine
about making self-discoveries
in the untouched spaces
above the lights.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
Circa 2005
& for some reason,
(unbeknownst to me)
they trusted a student
with the keys
to the high school auditorium.
Two, thick,
metal keys
engraved with three
words that would tempt
the whole of my disguised devilry:
1. DO
2. NOT
3. COPY
Eve to fruit
Pandora to box
Me—
to a couple of squeaky doors.
I’d hush you as we
teetered the catwalk.
We’d speak
in whispered contraband.
Forbidden acts
in the high up off-limits.
“The taxpayers don’t have to know.”
There was something
so fine
about making self-discoveries
in the untouched spaces
above the lights.
© Bitsy Sanders, August 2013
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