Jean Valentine

once i was girls
and boys

Once I was girls and boys — now

Now who I love are the wild-
worn drifters, not of the town—

cooking their supper out by the side of the road, kisses kisses


—And one especially, my mother’s
father, lost, glare blue and shaved,

at his own work—
unknown—

on your behalf  child, window
staring for you.