Touching Boys

Touching Boys

Blushing cheeks and fluttered lashes,
cotton frocks with satin sashes.
That first dance, paired with a boy,
equal parts of fear and joy.
Sweaty palms and faltering feet.
A different style, each boy you meet.
Shyness, then––a major dose.
Terror he’ll hold you too close,
then, affronted when he doesn’t.
Wrong when he was and when he wasn’t
romantic in that pre-teen way,
as forward as that time of day
permitted, with your parents there.
Beaded foreheads, scraggly hair.
School dances never missed.
Holding hands, but never kissed.
Except one time, when cheek-to-cheek,
that butterfly kiss, furtive and meek.
Eyes met for just a moment, then,
to celebrate your mutual sin.
Oh the terrors and the joys
Of school dances and touching boys!


17 thoughts on “Touching Boys

  1. Stevie Turner

    Reblogged this on Stevie Turner and commented:
    I do like Judy Dykstra-Brown’s poetry. This one conjures up cringe-making memories of when I was a shy, gawky teenager who had been to an all-girls’ school and had no brothers. When boys started showing an interest my face would blush blood red with the embarrassment of it all. Oh, those heady days of boys and young love! Little did I know they were only after one thing…


  2. Phil Huston

    I liked this as reblogged over on Stevie Turner’s site. For some reason, the early Beatles “Saw Her Standing There” is banging around in my head as the young boy’s side of this –



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