The moon lingers in blue sky,
listening to Styrofoam™ squeaking boots
on crispy, cold snow.
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Boom box boy
bouncing to the smoke pit
announcing your existence-
Caught in a lost decade
I’m grateful as that music fades.
Teresa hated her hair-cut
Wore her hat in class.
Held it tightly when the boys wanted to see
What could possibly be so bad.
Ran home in tears.
The next day,
the hat was off, and no one could figure out
what had bothered her so much.
Her hair looked fine.
She just had to get used to the idea of change.
How often are we afraid of something new,
even when it’s innocuous or perhaps
even better than what was?
Half a century I’ve pondered Teresa’s hair.
I still don’t understand,
what she didn’t like.