Penelope.

      We used to stand on the hot concrete
        at the city swimming pool
we did our conga, sloooow motion,
  First one foot, theeen the other,
            let one get hot,
then switch.
   Our backs and bellies bronze
         and red,
respectively.
     Standing in a line on the hot plate,
waiting to buy raspas and
      dried salted plums,
calling them Chinese candy.
   I remember the strong, grown up taste,
         was like a busted lip.

             Later, when we
found out you were leaving,
       we carried on as children
 will do, seeing weeks stretched out like years....
         That last day, we rode
              our bikes home,
     
          I kissed you my first kiss
                on your porch, through your
                            tears and mine,
                  that grown up taste
                            mixing with the roses
                                   of your freckles.