Pubescence Old-Fashioned by Chuka Susan Chesney

Deodorant spray in

my parents’ bathroom drawer.

I hurry to the door.

“Wait til we’re out!”

My mother implores.

My father grunts crossly while

razoring his chin.

I return to my room,

yank on a chartreuse turtleneck,

plaid jumper, knee socks,

and violette headband,

then reappear at their bedroom door.

I glance through the doorway

at their muddled double bed.

They have left

for the kitchen

to nibble applejack toast.

The deodorant’s straight up

on the Irish cream counter.

I flick away goo

in the hole of the nozzle,

reach it through my collar

and spritz my underarms.

I sit on the bus on the way 

to school.

The deodorant’s cheap—

my father bought it on sale.

Trickles of sweat drizzle down my sides.

I chat with my friend

on the pickled vinyl seat.

She doesn’t know I’m sweating.

Embarrassed, I pretend 

it isn’t happening.

I just keep grinning

my Jack-O-Lantern smile.

I realize I need my own deodorant

to twist in my bedroom

so my brother won’t use it.

That night I say, “Dad,

please take me to the drugstore.”

He does. I buy roll-on

and a pivoting razor.

Chuka Susan Chesney is an artist and a poet. Her poems, art, and/or flash fiction have been published in Peacock Journal, Inklette, New England Review, Compose, Picaroon, and Lummox. Chesney’s paintings and collages have been in exhibitions and galleries across the United States.