Tissue Box

by Samuel De Lemos

You said,
tissue box.
I heard shoebox…

I thought, what
Kind of request is that?

If the lady wants
a shoebox,
I’ll find her one.

A coy smile with braces.
I remember those years,
now kind of hazy.

Awkward,
everything is
strange in-between
twelve and
seventeen.

Like an urban cricket
whose anatomical
music melds
with cab-ride
horns.

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