Pandora's Box

Clicking heels on the gray floor

sounded like music 

when Pandora strolled on it.

Her gaze piercing like needles

punctured the hearts of us boys

when Pandora twirled our way.

One girl. Y-number of boys.

No wonder the school’s obsessed

With her mysterious box. 

A trickster, sly smile.

A flirt, lustrous lips.

A clay statue, a Venus,

Shaped superlatively. 

Y-number of boys. X = girl.

Teenage infatuation and intoxication,

curiosity granted one lucky one of us,

that night, to open Pandora’s box. 

Momentary pleasure could not compensate

the unbecoming afterwards, 

when Pandora’s curiosity killed her,

and her gaze barely tapped our hearts,

and her walking was incongruous. 

Sadness, irritation, aggression, melancholy--

Pandora lost her hopeful radiance for them.

We lost our school’s Princess Charming. 

Who’s to blame: us boys or her?