rosaries
by Ross Vassilev
afterschool
we watched the
Irish girls
walking
home in pairs
from
St. Mary’s.
they were all
blondes
or redheads
thin and pretty
stone-faced
mean-looking
not saying a word
not even to
each other.
pale white legs
coming out of
green plaid
skirts
they drove us nuts
but we didn’t
have the balls
to go over
and talk to them
so they remained
a green-clad
mystery
in the grey streets
of Manhattan.
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