She had a face so
pitted by acne
she was the walking surface
of a cratered moon.
I sat kitty-corner across from her in
advanced English class.
One thing I noticed:
her body’s shape,
an erotic transport
she would offer to anyone.
I seldom spoke to her
but one day at a carnival
we rode the rocket wheel together.
Spinning, I put my arm around her
and breathed on her face and neck and
her two warm cheeks.
Then we kissed.
No one complained
until later after our feet touched the ground
two boys shouted behind us,
“Look at that dyke with the pizza face!
Are you going to eat your pizza?”
My face and neck flushed red-hot
but I kept my arm around her
while we strolled quiet as mice
through the park.
When we got to my father’s Chevy
she crawled alone into the back seat and wept,
covering her head with both arms.
An hour later she whispered,
“Into each life a little rain must fall.”