you were nervous then

watching shy jailbait

catholic schoolgirls

walk round and round

earth’s plywood tabletops…

watching us

you grinned like a fool

as we  feigned

initial interest

in the soft-shelled chapbooks 

piled around…

from the corner stack

we tucked our copies

of the LA free press

under our arms

for an added effect

of cool…

we knew something

was off..

instead of

‘break on through

to the other side’

 blaring

and richmond grinning

or glaring

from behind the

counter,

a piano concerto

fell softly from

the mounted teac speakers…

this old guy

instead

was minding the store…

your yellowed, white short-sleeved

rayon

had a stain or two

dead-center

your greasy hair

was slicked back

with pommade or vaseline

and reeking of brews

you chain smoked those unfiltereds

one right after another

 lookin’ uncomfortable

and lecherous

like somebody’s

perverted gramps

left minding the store…

later you remembered

and wrote a poem

about schoolgirls

with lickable ankles…

thirty years later

i read that line

and blushed

remembering

those chapbooks

you sold me that day

and smiling

at such 

an ancient memory…