Girls overlook the kind boys.
Something soft in their voices,
they are breakable boys
no one dislikes, no one fears.
Sharon runs into the room barefoot
and black-eyed, she puts her feet 
on the chair of a boy so shy
his name makes him nervous.
She's safe here for an hour,
safe next to him.
He is the indefinite pronoun
on the other end of a phone
who listens and nods.

Some boys are calm water,
clean sheets, chimney smoke
straight to the sky.
They are expected weather.
Nothing in them stops breathing.
Girls tell them bitter secrets
of older boys who switch a fast blade
of anger with one scowl.

The girls' trust spurns an edgy lust,
turns a few boys from themselves
when they find they must hold
secrets like a bowl filled
with someone else's excitement.
They refuse to be brimmed with danger
girls know they will never possess.
Possession has power as dark and deep
as black leather, and no one mentions
the soft cushion of its feel.  It becomes
background for razor sharp studs,
the jangle of buckles and shine.

The boy who turns from himself
knows a jacket softens the fall.
He remembers all the Sharons
sitting near him, safe with his quiet,
sure he will be there when a sudden wind
makes them shudder, when betrayal
leaves them leaning to the part of him
he's worked to scar with cuts of his own.