Glen Martin Fitch
White and sticky
I let it dry on the inside of my wrist.
It was years before I knew
what else was white and sticky.
But not before I knew love.
Slouched in my chair
trapped in First Grade
I hid from our teacher,
day dreaming of Dickie Jamieson,
the cub master's son.
I twisted the rounded top
and squeezed the bottle
'til it squirted warm, creamy glue.
I waited for it to dry on my hand
to peel off in one piece.
You are on my wrist.
I'll wait for you to dry.
Sleepy now in your arms
I recall Dickie Jamieson
And I know love.
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