by Juanita Rey
I no longer giggle.
but my playfulness has a long pedigree.
I do my best to live up to it.
And we both struggle with acting our age.
I’ve one eye on the constellations
and the other watching sunset on Samana.
Your new motorcycle is parked on the street below.
We’re both only as adult
as our childhood allows.
So I wear jeans more tight than comfortable.
You air old rock-star dreams
with a strum on a guitar.
You work in the city,
play “Madden” when no one’s watching.
I wait tables, meringue dance
with plates of food.
We’re old enough to marry
but too young to go steady.
Juanita Rey is a Dominican poet who has been in this country five years. Her work has been published in Pennsylvania English, Harbinger Asylum, Petrichor Machine, and Porter Gulch Review.