The Man on the Moon is Melting

At parties I sit quiet and calculate my words

I avoid the eyes of guys and stare at my phone. 

After all that hiding, 

dissatisfaction feels like heartburn, 

crying over a simple email 

the lasts build a lump in my throat 

last time beaming onstage 

signing yearbooks 

wearing a stiff blue skirt 

One girl’s lanky frame against the dark turf field,

lit up by fluorescent lights 

She saunters toward the building 

holding another girl’s hand