for a long time i just wanted to kiss and be kissed
but, bucking convention, couldn’t
write dreamy poems
of sunset walks on the shore —
just because i was loveless
didn’t mean my poetry had to be trite.
and i didn’t write about rejection
because, well, i didn’t know any girls.
instead began writing poems with
chromed hubcap metaphors,
maybe tacky tin-can metaphors, in truth,
but shiny like the hubcaps on my ’53 merc’,
blinding me with dreams of attracting a girl,
blinding me to whatever truth the metaphor
was supposed to unfold.