bias pleats

bias pleats poem all the boys liked to grab
sarah’s boob one or
the other
when they passed her
locker like
she was a sideshow attraction
a free one
they’d honk the flesh like
an old car horn
some even making the
arrrooogah sound
a sound they’d only ever heard
in cartoons and walk on
without even noticing her there
more attention to the
sharpness of her
cotton blouse
bias pleats both
sewn and ironed by
her mother.
one boy once
mentioned
how she smelt of
ivory soap
but he got ribbed so
hard he never
inhaled near her
again

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