-the curiosity of the girls-

The imagery gets more and more peculiar.

The Hugo A. Dubuque School

On Oak Grove Avenue sits three

Blocks east of our house, and two

Blocks south of the Cemetery where

Lizzie Borden rests in her family’s plot of ground.

I think she did it.

In the schoolyard during recess

When all of us ran around 

Like one hundred thirty six pinballs
Bouncing into one another,

Everything seemed natural. But,—

Whenever something was organized by the boys,

A stickball game, a fist fight, a foot race,
Planning the de-pantsing of the new kid,—

The girls stopped whatever they were doing,—
Tag, Jumprope, Jacks, 1,2,3, Red-Light,
Whispering things to each other,—

Gathering like early morning hunters,
Measured, lining the fence,
Waiting there in their dresses,—
Curious of our planned activities
But more distant than within an arm's reach.

At the time, I was unaware of this phenomenon.

Now I struggle to separate
Fact from romanticism,—
The imagery of them in the schoolyard,

What it was about them which sucked us in,
Made us pay attention to their presence
As we plotted an adventure and they mustered
At the line of the chain-link fence

Waiting for their time, baiting the hooks,
Casting their eyes to the unsuspecting
Even then,—
Hooking their boys,
Reeling us in.


                           Quequechan