Better Than When I Was in the 9th Grade

When I was in the 9^th grade

I wrote nothing but love poetry,
but I was afraid

to approach the one who made
me sad and mopey—
I just wrote 9^th-grade

poems that I never even gave
them. They kept their distance, which was fine with me,
afraid

as I was to interact with them and try to make the grade.
And would it have been worth it anyway—
my 9^th-grade

self and my precious love in a roll in the hay?—
an unimaginable reality,
I’m afraid.

Yet now in my old age
I have a friend who puts love-zing into my poetry
again, much better than when I was in the 9^th grade,
because I’m not afraid.