Beverly, behind the counter

There was this girl
This girl named Beverly
That suddenly appeared in my life out of nowhere when I was ten years old
It was fourth grade
And we were in the same circle
In the same circle but we never quite touched
And she was pretty
And she had dark brown hair
And brown eyes
And the fullest softest lips that made me want to rip open my shirt and show her the tattoo on my chest that read
Beverly, won't you please be mine
But of course I never did
And as ten became eleven and then twelve
Our circles split and spiraled in different directions
And I would occasionally see her in the hall
In school
With some guy hanging on her arm
With some guy hanging on her every word
And as we passed there would be that urge to reach up to my shirt ...
Because she still had the softest fullest lips
But of course I never did
Then, on an unseasonably warm day in late March of 1969
Just a few days before I left for the Air Force
I walked into a bakery?
A deli?
A market?
And there she was, Beverly, behind the counter
She looked tired
She looked pale
She looked bored
But she still had those soft full lips that now shimmered under pink lipstick
And I stammered
And I stuttered
And I placed my order
And I reached up to my shirt ...
And I pulled out my money
And I paid for my purchase
And I picked up my bags
And our circles sort of merged again for a brief moment
And I said, nice to see you again Bev
And she said, yeah, it is
And I walked out the door
And that was that
Unless you count the odd nights when I can't sleep
And I think of her soft full lips
And Beverly, behind the counter

UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE
Beverly, in living black and white.
I'm also in there somewhere too.