Monday, December 13, 2010


I got on a Chicago bus.
It was a hot summer day...mid-week.
I wore my best clothes.
I was going to see my Maria.
She lived on the poor side of town.
She was Puerto Rican.
I met her at a basement party.
I got off the bus.
I walked to the address she gave me.
Her neighborhood was not the best.
It was disheveled.
Yet, I had no fear.
My young heart beat with lust.
I was seventeen.
I rang her bell, because she rang mine.
She answered the door.
She was a vision of loveliness to me.
She wore short, blue jean shorts.
Her firm, full breasts,
Showed through a white, lacy blouse.
She had dark hair, red lips,
And dark eyes, that sparkled.
She smiled at me as she took my hand.
She smelled like fresh flowers.
She brought me into her bedroom.
Nobody was home.
I kissed her neck.
I never felt such heat.
Her dark skin was as soft as velvet.
We made a reckless, beautiful love.
She was only fifteen years old.
I was college bound.
Maria was going nowhere.
She would be a beautician.
Or maybe a waitress.
She was my flower that day.
She loved to parade me through her neighborhood,
As if I was a prize.
I began to feel uncomfortable.
After three dates, I quit calling her.
She didn't have my phone number.
She knew not, where I lived.
It was easy for me to escape her.
She knew she would never escape,
Her neighborhood.
I thought of her on the Greyhound bus.
I was on my way to college.
To suburban sorority girls.
With Lake Forest addresses.
They had wealthy daddies.
These girls wore the right clothes,
And had perfect teeth.
Proper diction and bloodlines.
They were waiting for country club boys.
Harvard or Stanford bound.
I didn't qualify.
I thought of Maria.
I remembered her heat.
Her smile.
Her heart.
Oh, how she burned!
The suburban, sorority girls were cold.
They were self-absorbed.
I was lost.
I missed Maria.

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