Another try...
THE 7th GRADE DANCE
--David L. Passmore
As the pink corsage almost slipped from your wrist,
your father was shaking hands with this gangly boy
with the cow-licked hair
with the ruddy, pocked skin
in the starched white shirt ill-fitting at the collar
inside a circus clown-sized suit coat
wrapped in a well-knotted tie
gazing tightly at his just-polished shoes
blissfully taller than you
even with your half-heels on.
Your mother smiled like Mother Teresa herself,
then went behind the kitchen door
to cry softly
while your father waved as you entered the car of your date's father’s car
to drive to the 7th grade dance.
There, with your hair stiffened into a
snow carnival sculpture
by Selma fire hoses of your mother’s hairspray
and your suspender-held nylons bagged
at your skinny knees but hidden as if by magic
by parachutes and gusts of endless white and pink crinoline,
you rocked from one foot to the other
to match your awkward hero’s tentative rhythm,
as all around you swayed like
Canadian geese landed on a frozen arctic lake
just landed from some warm place,
with, as the night progressed, your left hand on his
shoulder
and your right hand in his constant
grasp.
And, Brenda Lee sang:
I'm sorry, so sorry
That I was such a fool
I didn't know
Love could be so cruel
Oh, oh, oh, oh
Uh-oh
Oh, yes
I'm sorry, so sorry
Please accept my apology
But love was blind
And I was too blind to see
Of course, these words meant nothing to you
other than the chance to clinch for a few more minutes.
Some say that such pathos is wasted on the young
that there was still much time for innocence and wonder
but it was just practice for the poignant
passion, suffering, and affliction
that would follow as countless others
eventually turned their backs
ground their heels into your soul
and left you for love dead.
But, all that can wait until another day, can’t it?
Just how did you get the nerve to brush his lips with yours
with your dad and mom waiting nervously behind the door
and his dad smoking with the radio on in the car?
How did it feel to gasp with the mystical wonder
that this rough boy liked you, yes, you?
How did it feel for the first time to long
to see someone again?
Think. Feel. How long did it last?
When was your innocence lost?
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More revisions. Then, we'll see what happens to it. 
