Like a rock concert in the middle of winter,
Like leather pants on a man old enough to be your daddy,
Like a convertible in a thunderstorm,
A pop reference still too recent to be retro,
A line from a sitcom nobody ever watched,
This is the way she would walk into the room,
Too cool to be cool,
More heebie-jeebies than CBGB’s,
Stepping way outside what my little mind could handle,
Refracting the culture of a thousand other places
Through the pretty pretty prism of nineteen, twenty, twenty-one,
Sashaying down the corridor like nobody’s business,
Standing in the street like nobody’s daughter,
Dancing in the field like nobody’s home,
Leaving in her wake a trail of nothing more
Than scattered, heartbroken, bewildered stares.
(Late due to veterinary emergencies yesterday.)