at whom you stuck your tongue out
near the clothing aisle,
shopping late one night—

her face when she saw you, in jeans,
walking strong and alone,
your long hair flowing
almost to your waist, in plain view

and then your tongue, suddenly
that rude glint of metal in the fluorescence,
the first tongue ring she’d ever seen

then the smile you hoped I’d miss,
your kind, winking eyes
and that little girl’s face

breaking slowly, slowly
into a wonderful grin.