Hug (Poem)

While some girls—most,
tell about the ways in which they’ve kissed,
and all the things they’ve done, and toast—
I don’t. And I’m not pissed,
he hugged me. He did.

I wasn’t expecting it,
and yet it wasn’t bad.
He’s cute—like a kid
he’s been meaning to do it, he said.

We were walking,
heading up the long way—talking,
and he said he had forgotten,
and he approached me,
and placed his arm around me,
and I smiled.

He’s happy, I see in his face,
his eyes are widen,
the grin, the look.
He’s glad he’s done it
I am, too.