Ryan had pictures of his mom
he would show

his friends, all of us
lost in the maze of sixth grade, reaching up

into the air of girls, and his mom
in a cheetah bra, laid back on the plastic

covering of the couch, her arms
folded across her body,

her hands
covering her crotch, her mouth

in a smile
and her eyes, I suppose, looking

into the eyes
of a man she had met and liked, a man

she had taken home, or a friend had
taken it for her, or she made her son take the pictures.

Ryan had a small stack of them
which he kept in a sock with yellow stripes on it.
People on couch
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