My beautiful third grade art teacher.
You flunked me for refusing to create
a Thanksgiving place mat,
but extolled me for mastering the color wheel.

Stunning, black hair, framing your white skin,
blazing red lipstick,
igniting a crush,smitten as early as eight.

You probably wed some nice guy because you told us
about some jerk you were seeing then who tried to scare the girls
by bringing a snake to the picnic blanket
and how you grabbed it, like Eve should have,
wrapped it around his neck.

You just didn’t wait for me to grow up and marry you.

Originally published in Spindrift Literary Magazine