Blondie, he calls
By Margaret
A. Robinson
Hey, Blondie! -- follows
me around the playground --
he's been left back twice,
has peace fuzz, a man's weight,
enough height to scare
though I keep girlfriends
near, whisper in their ears --
He can't even read. He only
hopes for a smile. I wish him
both to leave me alone and peek
at my underpants. If he turned
away, I'd want him back. If he
lifted my skirt, I'd make
somebody cut off his head --
cry when it silently
dripped on a platter.