I remember her breasts
smashed flat against the blanket,
over crabgrass, when
scary over the low hedge
Chico came, begging a light.

Her bikini top was undone
so of course she did not
get up when tossing the lighter over.

His silent smoke
lurked in our yard
until he threw the lighter back.

Walked on.

Later there was a poem to my mother
written it out on posterboard,
bordered by roses and daggers,
both bleeding.

Delivered with a hardly man kiss
earnest throaty pleas of love.
Poor young thang
all of nineteen and erect around my mother.

How did she let him down once his pants were back on?

(How is it my Father never found that
gigantic valentine stashed behind his couch?)

One of his sisters came.
I heard you was a nice lady.”

They all needed something,
Chico had a big family.
My mother could only give better than nothing.

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