An exercise in humility
There's going to be a new Friday feature here at bcf.com, called "Bad Poetry I Wrote as a Teenager." For my first installment, I present to you the first poem I ever wrote, "Summer Love."
At the tender age of 13, I went on a week-long camping trip with the Lashers. Nicky Lasher was one of my best friends, and her younger brother Sean was my boyfriend. Her parents packed up the RV, and we drove out to Rondout Valley Resort. A quick tour of the camp turned up more cute boys than we could count, and a KISS pinball machine in the game room. This was going to be awesome.
"There are a lot of cute guys here," Nicky said. "You should dump my brother so we can meet them." She had a point. I broke up with Sean for the 10th time, and we set out to find us some camp boyfriends.
It wasn't too long before I met an adorable thug named Carlos. He was only 12, but looked at least 14. His friend Mike liked Nicky. It was on.
Carlos and I fell madly in love. We both cried when it was time to drive back to Schenectady. He promised to write. I went home and waited.
The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months, and still no word from Carlos. One night, when I felt an aching deep inside my chest, I picked up the yellow notebook. The same yellow notebook that now sits on the desk next to me. In a heartsick frenzy, I wrote this poem.
Her Summer Love was her first true
She loved his smile and eyes of blue
She loved his laughter, loved his face
She can't forget his warm embrace
But both knew it would never last
The days and nights went by so fast
And then they had to say goodbye
She kissed him and tried not to cry
But in her heart she knew just then
That they would never meet again
And for him she would always long
Her Summer Love…forever gone
