I was barely twenty-one
When I met Cinnamon Greene
She was waiting at the bus stop
For the number twenty-three.

Her padded denim jacket
Was slung over her arm
The badge pinned by her elbow
Said ‘Rock and Do No Harm’.

We spent a lazy summer
Paddling in the brook,
Catching mud in fishing nets,
With a bucket, for the look.

We’d ride our bikes through mirages
Past fields of sugar beet
And pick the unripe apples
Off of feral apple trees.

We’d spent our nights on benches
Behind the parish church
Get drunk on wine from corner shops
Where our old school friends worked.

I was barely twenty-two
When I moved out of town
She said she’d come and visit
But she never made it down.