Dark eyes, very bold,
Long streaming hair.
You waited for me at the bus stop,
Hoping I would notice you.
We talked and you seemed embarrassed
As you used your shoe to make trails in the street dust.
I liked you and enjoyed talking while we waited
For our school bus.
Mom had different ideas when I told her of you
And made clear that we weren’t meant for each other.
I’m too young and you are not my ‘type.’
So I must forget anything more than that
You waited for me at the bus stop,
Hoping I would notice you.
© George E. Thompson
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