The note was passed from desk to desk
across the room, six rows, five aisles.
A hand placed it upon my book.
I glanced up dazed to see big smiles.
The girl beside me hissed real loud,
"Quick, read it, Petey, and reply.
If you say 'No,' I'll punch you out,
Cuz Dee's my friend. Don't make her cry!"
I read the note and nearly died.
"The Wild Sock Hop is Friday night,
and I would love to go with you.
Ask Liz. She'll tell you I don't bite."
Dee Harper had a long brown braid
that hung red-bowed near her left ear
and doe-like eyes that mesmerized.
I'd had a crush on her all year.
I was amazed as girls thirteen
liked high school boys not guys like me
who'd yet to shave and could not waltz,
who spelled the word without a "Z."
But I was game and grinned at Liz.
"You'll go?" she asked. I nodded "Yes."
"Good boy! You'll have a ball with Dee.
And wait until you see her dress."
I won't forget that first school dance,
the girl I took, the fun we had.
We waltzed a bit and jitterbugged,
and Dee was patient, never mad.
"It ended way too soon," I said.
Dee laughed. "Poor Petey, you are sweet.
I really liked the Hop tonight
once you stopped stepping on my feet."
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| Writing Prompt |
Write a poem about "the good old days" as you remember them. Any type, at least six lines |
Author Notes
A Norman Rockwell painting instantly brings back the Good Old Days. I do hope you enjoy reading my poem inspired by one of his earliest magazine covers.
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