That day at lunch, Johno sat next to me
his small, 5 year-old body leaned against the chair,
it was kindergarten when we didn’t mind being close.

He pulls out his lunch box
a super hero sits across the front,
his hands play with the zipper.

Our teacher steps in the room,
her lean figure drowning us in shadows,
telling us to wash our hands,

then she is gone. I step in the bathroom,
reaching up to the sink on tip toes, letting the
water run down my fingers.

Johno follows procedure, pushes me out of the way
playfully. He closes the door behind him,
leaving us alone in the flickering light of the bathroom.

His hands are wet, he touches my hair softly,
I lean back against the wall playing along
with his little game.

His face comes close to mine,
the smell of peanut butter flowing from his breath
as he nears me.

I smile, laughing at our silly game.
He is laughing too. People are trying to get in,
but we push the door closed.

Again he comes close to me,
his lips press gently against my cheek,
I can’t stop laughing.

He laughs too, at this rush of excitement,
at our silly game,
that was all it was.