How untouchable the girls arm-locked strutting

up the main hall of Central High unopposed

for decades looked.  I flattened myself against

the wall, unnerved by their cloudsea of élan,

which pounced upon any timid girl regrettably

in their way, their high-wattage lifting slow motion

like curls of light strands of honey.  The swagger

behind their blue-tinted sunglasses and low-rider

jeans hurt boys like me, so vast the worlds

between us, even the slightest whiff of recognition,

an accidental side glance, an unintended tongue-piercing

display of Juicy Fruit chew, was intoxicating

and could wildly cast a chess-playing geek into

a week-long surmise of inner doubts, likelihoods,

and depressions.  You might say my whole life led

to celebrating youth and how it snubs and rebuffs.

Back then I learned to avoid what I feared

and to place my third-string hopes on a game-winning

basketball shot, sure it would slow them to a stop,

pan their lip-glossed smiles, blessing me with their cool.

From Hoops by Major Jackson.  Used by permission of the poet and W.W. Norton & Company, Inc. Copyright © 2006 by Major Jackson.