Fringe Boy

The kitchen boys, the boys in the band,
The ones with the heavy boots and broken homes.
The boys on the fringe dressed in tight black jeans,

Who sat on the bench just outside school limits,
Smoking cigarettes, listening to music
You didn’t have in your house.

One of those boys singled you out and
Held your hand like he would never stop
As he bought your ticket to the movie,

His lips red and chapped and surprising
When he kissed you after. A softness that
Moves under your skin all these years later.

The fringe boy who vanished like you had never been,
Making you sigh then and now with need.
Leaving you to search the faces of boys who

Smell of danger and laugh at ironies you don’t
Quite understand. Sitting in alleys eyeing you
As you walk past, as if they know you want them.