My dimpled grocery boy
Who sold me bread
For the dime I wheedled
As an excuse to flirt.


And I with inner butterflies,
Coyly tried to seem aloof,
Though mother wondered why
I wore my best skirt.


Never did you know
How daily I pined by the phone,
That old rotary with the long neck
Then froze with the sound of your voice.


Finally when you said “are you there?”
I trembled a weak little “hello,”
And giggled as no girl before,
You were my first love without choice.

By Norma (Twi1ite@sbcglobal.net)

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