Your thick, black, sweaty hair. Your crooked, toothy grin. The nervous stutter of your voice. The smell of pencil lead and soap. The rough touch of hands well used. Of all the things Still tattooed in my memory Of you It is the slumped curve Of your shoulders and back As a paternal hand Pushed you the other way And you scurried from me, Carrying my life with you . . . Of all the things.