Kevin Coval

King of Pop

on the first day of fourth grade
i realized i liked girls
or at least Kim Kaufman.

i’d been watching Dynasty.
Kim reminded me of a ten year old
Alexis Colby, a dark and brooding
pretty young thing
her attention mine
to capture.

on the second day of forth grade
i returned fresh-dipped
in my Venture-copped, pleather
Michael Jackson Thriller jacket.
it’s red, a corvette calendar model
trimmed in Black like Michael
used to be.
i rocked it
collar flipped, hair feathered, sleeves
scrunched to elbows and walked to Grove
Elementary as if on the moon... until
Aaron Gilfand spotted me from the road
cackled like the witch that was
his sun burnt mother.

Kim’s bus was late and always
last to arrive. i waited for her
near the end of blacktop, hands deep
in my jeans, eyes searching the ground
for cool. she walked right past me
as if she didn’t know me
cuz she didn’t

i was in Mrs. Flanagan’s homeroom
Kim in Mrs. Howard’s at the end of the hall
near the door. outside a giant willow
wept shade over half the playground.
its branches held out a hand
when there was no one to dance with
where the red Michael Jackson Thriller
jacket hung abandoned
when the school bell rang.