Her Name


Every Saturday
when the Altos or perhaps
the Tenors were singing,
my eyes would stray
to the Sops
in the far corner of the choir room.
I would peek, shyly,
and then smile
to myself, unknown
to the pretty girl.

My friends laugh and say
she's just average, and I
would stay silent, smiling.
Perhaps it's her walk,
the way she smiles, and
her eyes
or the little blue scrunchie.
Beneath her colourful Nokia,
the extravagent and the trendy,
the typical teenager
is the pretty girl.

Around school I bump
into her and our eyes
meet.
But she goes off with her friends
and I hang out with mine.
And in my solitude,
I smile, think and dream
of the pretty girl.

I wonder
what it would be like
When I graduate
and leave the school
with the pretty girl.

Will she come
up to me, irony
in our first and last hello and goodbye?

Or will I content
to flip pages of a yearbook
class after class,
year after year,
and finally chance
upon her and learn her name

many years gone?


[chan]:: Thinking back of this teeny crush I had on a choirmate, I penned this poem! The title is supposed to be her name and not "Her Name".. but unfortunately, I do not know it. [*wink*]