She lived in one of those old Decatur houses
with arched doorways and built-ins.
A weeknight summer date,
a yellow sundress
anything I could have said
shadowed the gold around her head.
Against my parent’s Volkswagen
we ended up in one of those classic teenage poses.
I was leaning
on the hatchback.
She was leaning into me,
her back to the past.
A perfect night,
knowing she was leaving in the morning.
After all, it was summer.
I had other,
well, one other prospect to pursue.
“I’m not going to my grandmother’s in Macon”
she said to surprise me.
I couldn’t hide
the look of surprise
as she pulled away
and we were perpendicular,
in Olmstead’s park.
Then, somehow in the dark,
the light changed
and she was beautiful
Suddenly she was the one
but my sentiment had stuck
and it was time to take her home.
I saw her to the door with no kiss.
I headed home with cheeks burning,
the radiator had threats of bursting
and I missed my curfew.
She went south in the morning.
I always choose the wrong girl.