Andrea Barton
August 2010

As yet unfinished men,
the boys tended toward the drama
of scaling the water tower
those hot, dark, summer nights.

Shirtless, bony, pale, barefoot
and drunk on pilfered beer,
they threw up their arms to God,
whooping, as close as they would get.

We girls, with newly invested wisdom,
bore our breasts to lure them down.

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