Thirteen
Thirteen
My buddy Jake’s bar mitzvah was all right.
His parents own this chain of health boutiques,
so at the party there were all these freaks:
women with faces pulled up high and tight,
hair so blond it almost looked pure white,
and this one yoga teacher with her cheeks
like dynamite in tights was giving peeks
at her brand new boob job by the pool all night.
Jake said she told him since he was a man
he could touch—and he leaned in close, and felt
her breath all thick with beer against his skin.
Up in the game room, I didn’t know a thing.
I heard about it later as he held
the locker door with a clenched and shaking hand.
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