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What She Did In Her Room When No One Was Listening

by Monique Rardin Richardson

The squeal pierced my teenage ears 

from the secondhand amp in my tiny bedroom

holding the duct-taped cord and mic,

I was Ann Wilson in an arena,

bathed by a sea of faces 


Bright lights cascaded down on me, 

my hair shimmered as if weaved in glitter, 

the ground rumbled from boisterous feet

and I sang—to him


The boy, with shoulder-length locks, 

an awkward smile, and legs the length of my body 

hidden under bell bottom jeans 


I belted out my love and desire,

for his leather covered arms to be wrapped around me 

God, I wish I knew his touch


His steel-toed boots made him appear unbreakable.

but on the inside, he was a sentimental poet


I sang to the sea green eyes that pierced my soul

I sang to—my Magic Man

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