Play Tough

After boyfriends, husbands, houses, haircuts. After acne and first days and new backpacks and snow days.

After teacher workdays and $3.65 hot lunches on green trays. 

After mean old teachers and yellowed textbook pages with dirty fingerprints from some boy a decade before. After busses and occasional beatings.

After Precious and Fred.

After David and Casey.

After bad hills to bike up and too many Mary Baldwin stairs.

After green lawns and a crumbling skating rink with half-lit disco ball and a faint refrain of the hokey pokey coming from that broken speaker.

After Gloldschläger and Löwenbräu.

After hangovers.

After Fugazi and Phair. After asking Mr. to help the pony. After CDs and mix tapes and forays into vinyl with a rusty needle.

After bubbles burst and wet parades and rainbow’s end.

After I think he’s the one becomes I told my therapist…

After giving up and getting up and giving up and getting up and  giving up and getting up.

After medications.

After brief stints in the psychological slammer.

After anger and isolation. After fat and thin. After lost. After found.

After 28 years we still play tough.