Escapade

 

Evaporation is the opposite
of a wet dream
the residue of dew
clear drops beaded           clean                         petals holding forth

as the bicycle wheels spun
out of control
behind the offending
beehive.

did I
shock him
with my escapade                             or was it
my tank
top,
my camellia
bush        my squishy laughter
at his skinned knee?

I tried to suck
the poison                        out of my
sting but                           the remedy
was wrong,       only salt                    on my tongue

I should have asked
my grandma, stern                         and terse,
not the cuddly                  pigeon some kids get

but there were her
gem-filled pies
and those tiny sapphires
from the Montana mine
her uncle toiled in

I pedaled off
on the bike
he didn’t need

his knee                           would heal

and I                    by then                             long gone