As she asks herself, Why?
Her breasts are not fuller
Her blonde hair isn’t shiny
She can’t erase freckles
And her voice becomes whiny?
“I NEED a bright colored Band-Aid
To cover these scratches…
And I’ll look in my drawers
For a hair clip that matches.”
She takes out her comb
And makes her hair poufy
And colors her cheeks
Then decides she looks goofy
She dampens a washcloth
And scrubs her face bare.
Plastic nails peel off quickly,
She unteases her hair.
Waving good-bye to her lover,
“Future husband!” she’ll say.
He’s on a rock ‘n roll poster
“But I’ll meet him one day!”
Its time for her school bus
Ten minutes past seven
The woman is blossoming
But she’s still only eleven.
