Site icon Angie's Diary

Laughter Fades at Night

No – it’s a lie
I never covered you with a blanket,
or beat you up in my own backyard.

I never sent the red head home
with a bloody nose because you
teased my brother.
I was just a little girl.

Why did your mother have to call
and spoil it all, you were wrong,
so I punched you, it was a surprise
because little girls don’t punch boys.

I do recall being sick and staying home
from school – knowing my friend
would be passing by – it was lonely
being home alone.

I rapped on the window pane and
motioned for you to come inside – I
talked you into skipping school so
we could play paper dolls, but then
they were gone.

I searched as hard for those paper
dolls as I worked on twisting a hoola
hoop around my waist – she could
twist it longer – besides, in the winter
she never needed brown straps on her
white skates.

I had rules – at least I heard those rules
day and night.  It seemed as though I
was the only one in our neighborhood
who had to be inside when the street
lights turned on.

It was when you laughed
I found another friend.

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