At Thirteen

Deep vibrations from his hot car
invade  her body like the heavy beat
of a bass guitar... masculine sound,
aggressive, sensual, hypnotic. 

Driver, dead sexy at seventeen,
wears dark glasses, nonchalant smile.
Her friends blush, giggle as he drives by.

To sit beside him is her dream.
She aches to rip off the mask
and blindfold of childhood.

Kay Robertson

If you have any comments on this poem, Kay Robertson would be pleased to hear them.