With Flavia I went to swimming pools
A Transylvanian without all her teeth
An indie kid, bleached denim, cigarettes
With Oreos and strawberries to eat
When she went braless in her uniform—
red cotton shirt and khaki cargo shorts—
on July 4th, we saw the fireworks
With brooms and pans and tongs for cigarettes
She was in school to be an architect
And told me that she had no middle name
I never smelled tobacco on her breath
“Phil, would you like a chewing gum?” She said.
Back then, I was still stinging from the time
My parents left the window open wide
I could smell the fags on the balcony
The smoke blew, quite invisibly, to me
No play acting could then put wound to ice
Romania is not a paradise