I never told

when my hand-me-down panties w/ the frayed elastic fell down

& I walked out of them, chin up, never missing a step;

while behind me, Converse AllStars, penny loafers,& white bucks

scuffed them along the packed halls of Salem Classical.

But then it was slips & petticoats

Mum mostly insisted upon for my sisters & me,

for a reason we knew had something to do with modesty, being good,

& boys; so I never told.


(Toward the end of the 50’s as I went through K-8 Horace Mann Training School into Salem Classical and High School, these would have been on the hi fi back in our den where I was supposedly practicing cello.)



2 thoughts on “A Raymond Story told in 420 characters and 9-lines. (I’m thinking to see if I can tell a slew of them in “my” peculiar genre.)

  1. I can’t wait to have the 4 sisters read this because I cannot pull up (pun intended) from my memory exactly how I wriggled out of them. I mean, the tangle ’round my bobby socks and brown and whites must have been wicked awful, as we used say in Salem.

    That I can’t remember the actual act of kicking them off with aplomb makes me wonder if the underpants accident actually happened to one of the sisters and it’s become mine. (It wouldn’t have been Ruthie because, as the oldest, she always got the new stuff.) Rest assured, if this is so, I’ll share it; but it also shows how tricky memoir is.


    PS As I write I’m listening to the hearing on the leaks and the Russians. Memory. Faulty.


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