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LIBBY’S KISS

LIBBY’S KISS

Her kiss, wet, her lips
like slugs, but

the best
I ever got.

Her legs, thin
as tinker toys,

the wagon wheel joints
her knees—how

could that neck support
her head, a planet

on a straw—
she looked like hunger.

At lunch, the bench
was empty

but for where she sat.
Libby, the idiot

of third grade,
never seen on swings

or slides, never jumped
the turning ropes.

Eyes rolled
as she walked by.

Kids, cold, hard
as marbles, used her

for their blood raw
laughs. Their home-grown

anger passed
to her like nits.

I earned her kiss
by being soft.

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brillig01
Cuddle Ugly

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