Prom Night

Poem by Jenna Le

When I went to my high school prom
with a boy whose name I cannot ferret
from memory’s wells, tall-coiffed like a
and long-chinned like a carrot,
my mom and dad both squatted on
our scouring-pad-like parlor rug,
crouched low and long so that their
buttocks grazed
rough pile, and grinned, and hugged
their boxy cameras to their faces,
snapping over fifty shots
of me and Vague-Eyed Red-Cheeked
Boy, red herring
in my life’s love plot,
snapped more than fifty frames of that
inconsequential night in May—
my parents, who don’t even have one
of their wedding day.