Two Poems

First Love

She was sixteen.
Short with dark hair,
and a smile that never stopped.

We made love
beneath her bedroom window
in the backyard

of her parents' house,
as her dad worked second shift
and her mom busied herself

in the kitchen, denying
that life was anything
but what she deserved.

The Night She Left

A strong rain beat the shingles.
Thunder rattled the walls.
Lightning danced
between the windowpanes.

Woke to hysterical screaming,
convinced myself
I was dreaming,
rolled over and resumed sleep.

Following morning found father
snoring like a chainsaw
in his favorite chair.
Test pattern on the television,

bed not slept in,
door to their closet
wide open
and half empty.