There is something
about you
they said
and they were right
in that way that isn’t universal
she did have something about her
and then she gave it to you
and you had
something about her
locked around your neck.
When you whistled
only she heard your call
came running time and again
hands powdered with flour
losing each time
something about her
because that is what happens when
girls give it away
without thought
as if it, and themselves, were
a paper boat let loose to rent
how then to remain whole?
they have to have it
to be
something
about
them
or they stay as tinsel in corners
gathering misapprehensions dust
no one remembered to take down
after the celebration was over
as hollow as old marzipan
left to suck up dry cupboard air
when placed for safe keeping by soft hearted child
leaching color onto old towels
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The Reluctant Poet 