Knee length skirt, cotton cami,
lace shrug, and heels.
All black.
Fair skin, blonde hair, blue eyes. Very pretty.
My children edge past her, past the Other Women,
on their way to the park.
Son takes a second look, then hurries on. Vans squeak
through sodden grass.
Baggy jeans soak up puddles of mud.
Typical twelve-year-old boy.

They return,
plastered in cut-grass, flushed-pink and grinning.
Daughter cradles the ball, and
crows about winning, while
The Pretty One, the Other Women,
alternate tuts with
oh-what-it-is-to-be-youngs
…
but The Pretty One,
she's only
twelve.

These past two days have come and gone,
I sat on my bed from dusk till dawn,
I couldn't stop thinking of you for a single minute,
People told me to do something... but I didn't,

I refused to listen,
I refused to hear,
All I cared about,
Was my sweet dear,

I closed my eyes and imagined your face,
We raced off together to a beautiful place,

We huggled,
We snuggled,
We laughed and we cried,
I wiped the teardrops away from your eye,

Don't worry my dear,
Everything will be all right,
When you lie down for bed,
Think of me saying, "Goodnight."