“When We Were Sophomores,” New Era, June 1975, 34
Everyday you’d walk me home from school
and carry my books while I’d listen
to your daring football practice feats
and rave until you’d grin
and call a race.
You always won because
I couldn’t jump the ditch, and
you were glad I was a girl
until you’d run ahead and hide and
jump at me and scare me
so I’d scream for half an hour.
You’d just laugh, and I’d get mad
and wouldn’t talk, but then
we’d cross the street
where you’d always take my hand
and not let go for the rest of the way.