Revolution
I was too young to have opinions,
only irritations.
She had a revolutionary anger
against everything.
I breathed in her perfume,
her alien attraction.
She taught me what to think,
how to politicize angst.
Mostly I remember her little
sixteen-year-old breasts,
so angry, so sweet.
I wish we could both
return now,
to that brief vacation
in genteel Brighton.
To again
rage against the machine,
that has chewed us both up.
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