He took her there every evening,
heaven of gods, water ofsaints.
This is what they don’t tell you, he said
under the bleachers.

Seasons change,
leaves of bitter fall down to the stream
taking a trip to the outside
where longing doesn't end
and the bleachers stay the same.

Until one fine afternoon in September
It was not her anymore.
It was somebody else with him
under the bleachers.
She too, has taken this privilege
of slow afternoon hours
on a temperature that burns things
under the bleachers.

Why did you ever mention her?
You don’t know half the stories,
he said with despise,
under the bleachers.

Boys will be boys
and girls,
girls will stop loving them.