No, the ensuing hookup was not my first;
but to handle it, I was not well rehearsed.
I had arrived from the northern chills
to attend university in the blazing Sonoran hills.
And after weathering a swirling sandstorm,
I finally settled into my new school’s dorm.
Next, I determined to explore my new town,
to relax and cool myself off after sundown.
Venturing out, I heard a bystander hawk,
“Hey, I just love the way you walk!”
The compliment got me to turn around
to learn where came that flattering sound.
Had someone noticed my personal stride,
which unwittingly attested my Chi-town pride?
The alluring voice had directed my attention
to a nubile youth of dark, creamy complexion,
She was a bubbly, mysterious ebony sprite
who sported a shear summer dress ever so tight.
We quickly struck up a rather raucous caucus
that carried on ardently to the mall of campus.
Obviously, my whole attention she stole,
our conversation ranging from silly to droll.
She snickered and queried if I had ever been
with anyone who wore her same type of skin.
Dumbstruck, I responded that I truly had not;
something I expressed wish to learn more about.
“Well, would you like to touch my curly hair?”
My answer to her was, “How do I dare?”
“Go right ahead. It’s no big deal;
I don’t mind if you want to give it a feel.”
Thereupon, I reached out timidly to touch;
she then offered her hand for me to clutch.
My head and parts perceived a quick rush;
Our close interaction had made me blush.
We tittered about things we had in common,
and about what in free time we did for fun.
But when we raised that specific topic,
her talk became more and more myopic.
She coyly quizzed if I liked to get buzzed,
just as everyone she proffered at the college does.
Alas, before me sat an artful temptress,
who by now had put my feelings under stress.
When pressed, she revealed she was underage,
and that for her social drinking was the rage.
She waited evenings for a wide-eyed score
who could buy her hooch at the liquor store.
So, instead of an intriguing new friend,
I sadly had encountered a dipso Siren.
Ergo, I declined politely getting some beers,
and begged leave as she shed crocodile tears.
© 1974, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.
🙂