by Glen Martin Fitch
White and sticky
I let it dry on the inside of my wrist.
It was years before I knew
what else was white and sticky.
But not before I knew love.
Slouched in my chair
trapped in First Grade
I hid from our teacher,
day dreaming of Dickie Jamieson,
the cub master's son.
I twisted the rounded top
and squeezed the bottle
'til it squirted warm, creamy glue.
I waited for it to dry on my hand
to peel off in one piece.
You are on my wrist.
I'll wait for you to dry.
Sleepy now in your arms
I recall Dickie Jamieson
And I know love.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011