We all talked about it.
The secret substance
the magic potion
the grail that got girls
to go with guys like us.
Cosby even spoke about it
on an album from before our time:
Spanish Fly would make the ladies
hot and bothered
and better ready for the boys.

We didn’t really know
what "hot and bothered"
might mean,
but we knew
in our beating
barely pubescent brains
that it was a state
we desperately needed
and could not achieve
on our own.

We spoke of what we’d do:
get the Fly
at some corner store
then sneak it
into Michelle’s drink
or invite Karina over for a study session
then "accidentally" spill it on her shirt.
We weren’t altogether sure of the mechanism
but we knew that the results
were very desirable

but we never found the stores
that carried this codeword
to let us enter paradise
or even found out what paradise might look like.

We spoke of it.
We wanted it.
We never got anywhere near it,
a flitting, buzzing thing
always in the corner of the eye,
always out of reach.