Goddfrey Hammit.

It wasn’t anything at all, she said.
Though songs are written on the subject–no,
it wasn’t poem-worthy, just what one did
when one was young and caught in hormone’s throes.
I guess that I could see how anything,
including sneaking out on summer nights,
a different boy each time, could turn routine:
for some, hard to imagine–yet it might.
I could have said some dreamed of “just a kiss,”
that she, in summer, blithely kissed away–
and yet, today I’d thought the same: just this
again, just happiness, and just a day,
the type of love that one comes to expect–
and who would think to make a song of it?

“Secondhand Sonnet” first appeared in Rat’s Ass Review