Samuel use to tell the girls tings.

Would put his finger in the fellas face

and say, “smell”. A salty sour stink

was on it and sweat and fresh.

He would tell the girls the tings

he would do them, how he would stretch

them open like elastic band, open

their legs like clothes

peg and stick his ting in theirs.

He ain’t studying his learnin’ but

he know how to make a hole

with index and thumb and stick

a finger on the next hand, thick,

into it. He would go on the wall and

show them how he would jouk

it the day he got it. 
                                          The day

he got it, the day he beat drums

on the desk when the teacher

stepped out to the office, the day

he shouted “Raaeeeeeee” like a Deejay

and start dancing,

the day Carla come,

pull up her puff-pants under her skirt,

and push-back on Samuel, push

him back-back against the wall, and

give Samuel the sweetness he

was pining after. The boys remember

that salt smell like a blade sliding along

their noses, seeing Samuel

inconsolable and crying against the wall; Carla bamsy

hard and rough against his crotch, like a too

heavily answered prayer.