When she was little
It was cute, the way the boys
loved her on playground time
In the shadow between the
swings and the red plastic slides
looking down her throat
when they made her laugh
and up her skirt when she
crossed the monkey bars
her legs hanging open, spilling
secrets of the little girl kind
that mothers try to hide behind
polka dots and candy strips
When she was older but
still young, playground time became
heavy lunchroom butterflies
and awkward shy sideways eyes
but the boys still knew to make
her laugh and kissed her quickly
when her eyes were closed while
the teachers looked the other way
jealous of the candied love in their
baby sized eyes, listening to her
laughs before the bell yells and
they’re are lost in lunchroom lullabies
When she’s older and not young
I wonder how the
boys will love her and if they’ll
remember to make her laugh
when they take her in the woods
and try to love her behind trees
when they think no one is looking
I hope that they do, but know that
they won’t because when boys
try to become men before they know
it’s true spelling, laughing to
them starts to mean crying and
little girl’s tears the badges
they earn as they learn to hunt love
for sport, forgetting the times
that love was once real
in the shadow between the
swings and the red plastic slides