Sunday, October 21, 2012

Natalie in Late June, 1997

Sitting in the passenger seat of my father’s car,
he headed westbound on 6th and made a right
onto Bandini. His red Mitsubishi marauded
like a tamed tiger down the street’s slope
and sagging droop of steepness
with East Meyler passing beneath.

Pedro High’s Summer School classes
had been dismissed for the day, fifteen
minutes and ten blocks back. A varied
demographic of teens trickled by while
we drove past, nearing the Y.

Looking for people known to me,
I saw none. Instead a shock of red hair,
the color of a spilled juice box, atop
the head of a little frame
clad in a wife beater
and plaid pants that appeared
to be highlighted on in crisscrossing
crosshatches of various Smurf shades of blue.

She sauntered in white platforms, determined
not to wilt in the heat with her bag slung over
a shoulder and a folder tucked in the crook
of that same arm.

All I could wonder was, “who’s that
and will I meet her?”

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