Sunday, November 18, 2007

Monday Poetry Train #26




Those Words "I Love You Honey"


Look, there he is over by the wall.
His hand upon her shoulder
As he guides her down the hall
He smiles as he talks to her
Laughs at what she says.
I cannot bear to watch them
As they wander on their way
I turn my head and walk away
Unable to understand
This new emotion gripping me
Could this be jealousy?
Oh, what's the matter with me!
I had the chance and turned it down
To be the one beside him now
Too late now I understand
The real meaning behind those words
When not too long ago
He slipped his arm around my waist
And said, "I love you honey."
Frightened I pushed him from me
And ran down the hall
Unheeding to his pleading call
"Hey don't run away."
He tried again not long after
But again I turned away
He tried twice, then once again
But still I pushed him from me
I needed time to think it out
Decide which way to turn
What could he mean by those strange words
"I love you honey."
Could he be telling the truth?
Now he has given up
Gone looking for another
To take my place I guess
'Cause I refused to answer.
Oh what I wouldn't give
To have another chance
To answer him the way he wants
And walk with him to class
Oh stop this wishful thinking
And get done with your work
You know that given half a chance
T'would be the same again
There they go around the corner
And with them go my hopes
Of hearing him once more say
Those words, "I love you honey."
-Joy Renee Coon 1972

###############

Bleh!

I think this is what is called juvenilia. I was in eighth grade when I wrote it. Unless it was the following summer. But the events took place in the eighth grade. And are as embarrassing to remember now as they were excruciatingly humiliating and heart-crushing to live through.

Note: my first instincts were right. This guy's 'love' had a shelf life of approximately three weeks. Somehow that didn't make it any easier to watch him move on. The thing that took me nearly twenty more years to figure out was why, during those several weeks he pursued me, it was my dearest wish that he move on. Until he did.

Ummm. Susan Helene. This was my Trevor. Or at least Trevor in training. A Trevor without music or any other non-destructive means to get the recognition he craved. I heard he ended up where Trevor's older brother did. But that was from the high-school grapevine. Not the most reliable of sources.

I warned ya'll I was scraping the bottom here. Two tickets to the Poetry Train left in my files.

8 tell me a story:

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