Poems by Diane Willadson
You have mascara on your cheek, the first day
you found the guts to wear it. It took an hour
to get this clumped effect, this graduation
into sex and then May Hargrove, with six words,
May-Hargrove-of-the-ostrich-lashes who gives boys
instant boners--May I? May be the best there is.
May with her big-question lips, sends you straight
back to grade school, back to frilled underwear
and you walk as fast as you can to the restroom.
With soap, you take off all the mascara and later
in the hallway, you see May Hargrove and you walk up
with red, stinging eyes and tell her Thank you.