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Behind The Driver’s Pit

August 29, 2012

She fixes up her hair, two hands behind her head.
Behind the driver’s pit, where he cannot see her, making herself pretty.

She swings her body ’round, pivoting from the yellow bar,
and coyly tells the driver, she thinks him “cheeky”.

She drops one hip down, as she juts the other one out.
She lets her knee fall untidily to the side.
The men on that bus are all boys to her eyes.

She has always been, she will forever be, seventeen.
And there’s something ugly-beautiful in that.

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