Summer of 95
(Or The Summer That Wasn't Mine)
Laughter pouring out of slightly drunken mouths
Leaned back on elbows
Heads tilted toward night sky
Grass tickling bare legs
Cold bottles of Zima grasped in our (soon to be) 9th grade hands
With boys of ill repute
With boys a little too old
With “men”
We pass a Marlboro back and forth between us
Your words of encouragement:
Inhale (don’t cough)
Exhale (look sexy)