Fourth Grade Nerves

There was a time – the month of May
I think it was. A fine time. A sunny day
upon the new clover; the dandelions white
and yellow. Children calling red rover,

red rover, send Lisbeth right over. That girl.
I fell on her sight. Dark hair of black curls
always wore her Sunday best, even on
a Tuesday in the rain. Fourth grade stress

was long division but her hand shot up
and my was mouth dry. I suddenly thought
could I push her on the swing? Stupid pup.
Clumsy and plain. Oh my! Say it again and

those dark locks flew with each push.


About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
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