you and your
weird purple hair
and old book smell.
Your taste for po-boys,
the way you jump from one
holiday to the next, because you
know the best way to move on is to
party on, cause that's how we live so
I will defend your face paint and loud music,
your ostentatious jewelry and the sweat that
drips from your chin. I will defend the way you
shake the dome every Sunday, priests speeding
up mass just to get to the game. I will defend, I will
listen to your streetcar groans and count your oak trees
as I pass, turning yellow in the summer sun, I will defend.
Ruthie, age 16