Blake wrote poems that
made all the beautiful
girls cry. He'd read them
out loud at the front of
the classroom. Hand
wrote individual copies
for the girls he really liked.
The girls I really liked. The
girls that at only 16 he had
already slept with. The girls
that snarled and quickly
walked away if I ever spoke
to them. Almost 30 years
has passed. I wonder if my
poems would make those
beautiful girls cry like they
did for his. If they would all
talk about me in hushed
tones before and after class.
If their beautiful legs would
open, welcome me inside,
the same way they did for
his terrible poems. 43
years old. Writing better
poems than he ever could.
Still in his shadow.
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Brenton Booth lives in Sydney, Australia. Poetry of his has appeared in New York Quarterly, Chiron Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Main Street Rag, Naugatuck River Review, Van Gogh's Ear, and Nerve Cowboy. He has two full length collections available from Epic Rites Press. brentonbooth.weebly.com
