Cellophane

I’m opening the blue box already torn at the edge it’s alright to open boxes in the store if they’re already torn— like this blue and white box Chattanooga across the top it’s cellophane rattling as I slip open the end to slide the inner box only part way out enough to touch the engine this is what I have dreamed under my fingers every detail nuggets of coal in the box the brass rails the silver wheels I can tell it’s heavy without lifting it from the blue box with the white letters the store radio is familiar with a song I’ve heard a million times I wanna hold your hand I wanna hold your hand I wanna hold your hand, Scott and Barb did we sat under the jungle gym touching one sweaty palm to another— peaches, she smelled like the peaches I had slurped down at lunch and her fingers were sticky and I was nervous looking for the teacher the other students, not even sure why and as I push the beautiful engine back into its box before the store clerk sees touch it once more through cellophane run my fingers over the white lettering the blue background of sky the stack billowing broad puffs of dirty gray I am memorizing this— this will be mine I can hear it whistle, bell, mine he bumps me he is above me as I turn he is smiling, like he has found what he was shopping for— surely not my train he bends very close his cologne stinging my nose and the Beatles still singing I wanna hold your hand and Barb, sweet peaches sticky under the jungle gym my parents, where are my parents and he grabs my wrist too hard and still smiling pulls me up to his face I wanna suck your cock suddenly I am far, far on the other side of cellophane but still seeing this hearing this feeling this somehow knowing he wouldn’t think twice about ripping open my beautiful blue and white box