Lucy Dale

first love

i love him, i’m lucky.
for in the lock, he fit,
my first pick of key.

i marveled at how easy
he made me believe it,
“i love him, i’m lucky.”

i find his love slowly,
cold, like metal, unlit.
my first pick of key,

but he was my only.
how could i release it?
i love him! i’m lucky!

it’s tragic, really—funny,
someone else had to show me:
my first pick of key

turned my hand green—
and no one can scrub it,
i love him. i’m lucky to be
with my first pick of key.