At Sixteen

We come now to the space which is boy-shaped.
It has always been there, filled or unfilled.
Come ride with me on my motorcycle, we'll do
the whole mile-square by moonlight and we rode,
I clinging to that boy shape with all the girl
shape I was, and the moon made shadows of us
on the corn rows, and we scared ourselves on
the corners, an laughed as loud as we dared
and swung on home before the night could get us.
In the wane of that same moon, he raced the mile alone
and struck an old car parked without its lights
and the night got him, and the moon had to shine
a great many nights before I was sure it wouldn't
get me too. We had been little kids together,
sitting flat out in my sandbox, making pies.
We practised kissing in the ally behind his house
and mine. I can still hear the little lights
in his voice that made my nipples stand straight out.

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