The First Pair
They were my first.
Scratched-up knees
now hid beneath glorious
and itchy denim.
That was an ageless summer,
sweaty days had to be suffered,
as skinny legs
were proudly sequestered under
new blue jeans.
I bought a comb,
my reflection in shop windows
grew a lot taller.
The girls, O those twelve-year-old girls
and their pink bubblegum knees!
I dreamed of being adult enough to flirt
and not get hurt
by their cheeky, cheeky ways.
I was in-between,
my jeans were too long,
baggy around the bottom,
tight in the crotch.
The year was far too short
but looking back
it fitted me perfectly well.
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