.................................
Old Ray
.................................

we sat together on the wrought iron bench
in the park, clumsy hands unwrapping
sandwiches he made for us
and hard candies for dessert. I liked those days

of singing songs I learned in school
holding hands and pretending
he was my real dad, or my big brother
those days before I learned the meaning of words like

"pedophile," and "pervert," and even
"retard," when it was all right
to be friends with an older man
who only liked to touch and kiss
and I swear
it never hurt

.................................
Holly Day
.................................

 
Copyright © Holly Day
January 1999

...a poem in this room by David Weinstock...
candy
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