Thursday, April 14, 2005

Things I Would Never Tell My Mother

That B- in Chemistry
Was actually
a D+

Last Sunday, when you called,
I told you I was on my way to Church
And couldn't talk.
I was actually too hung over
To even speak.

I got a boot on my car.
I took the boot off.
All by myself.
It's in the closet now
Underneath a blanket
And the sweater
Grampa gave me last year
For Christmas.

I found your Hookah
Under cobwebs
In the attic.
I smoked out of it.

I had my first taste of liquor
At 13.

I had my first taste of sex
At 15.

I see your face
On my body
And that makes me

I love the way you
Me with pride in your eyes,
But that didn't stop me
From borrowing your truck
While you were
To pick up a keg
To bring to a party.

All those nights
You thought I was sleeping at Theresa's
With Theresa's
Ears in range
I actually slept
Everywhere but.

When I broke my knee at Mike's house,
I didn't fall down
Rain covered front porch steps.
I tripped over my own two feet
And fell on marble flooring
And later down the steps
After eight-too-many
Vodka cranberries.

I wore your anntique earrings
To school once, and lost one.
I put the earring back
In the jewelery box.
And now you think
You lost it.
But you didn't.

And I would never, ever tell you
That I filled 12 verses of poetry
With things I would never tell you.

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