TOUCH OF BOYS.

A GIRL AND HER UNCERTAINTY WITH BOYS.

I sense the touch
of boy's eyes upon
me, said Jeanette,
the touch inches

beneath my skin,
moves along my
veins, pricks at my
heart. I sit and see

the other girls remote,
untouched as I, their
voices gathered like
hens at feed, pecking

their order of who
and must; I hear the
words giggled: kiss
and tell, and touch

and feel, and who did
what to whom, echoing
around the room in
whispers spoken, hid

by hands, eyes betraying
what their voices are saying.
A girl talks of sexual
climes, of dirty deeds,

with him, but who is he
for no one tells, just a
lover of girls. I wash
each night to cleanse me

from their touch of words,
their deeds half buried
in my mind's hold; I bathe
and sit and scrub, sensing

the day's grime wash clear
away, hair,arms, hands,
neck and breasts, where
they say(and laugh) their

sex boys play. I hear their
words as I sit in class,
whispering, whispering,
who did what to whom

and where and were you
there?  I wonder at their
lives, their way of walk
and do and deeds, the want

of love or need of keeping
something back, virginity
not saved not cared for such
as seems when they speak

and sprout it all comes out.
I bathe in water warm and
soapy, scrub my skin to
cleanse them off, the night

spread before me like a dark
gown, the stars blinking eyes,
the moon a ghostly ship on a
dreary sea. I don't think boys

will want of me. I dress as
neat and tight and show no
part that should not be be
seen, I am as yet untouched,

unfingered, unkissed, a
flower in a gloomy meadow,
a blossom in a city site, a
gem(says mother) in a heap

of shite. I sense the touch of
boy's eyes upon my skin, it
bites at me, pricks at nerves
and heart, I want to be undone,
not left alone and torn apart.