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I was looking back fondly to those days of Ricky while I was listening to the song and then flashed on a moment sitting in ENG 226 in a small classroom on the first floor of Berkey Hall on the campus of Michigan State University. It was a creative writing class, and it was the day right after the Grammy's. The only reason I remember this particular class period was because of this, and if you read on, you'll see why.

It was a class of only about 20 people and Professor Jones was taking us into the wonderful world of poetry.

That day, we were to do an in-class writing assignment. An image poem. Our Prof told us to think of an image--the first one that popped into our brains, and to write a short twenty-or-so lined poem about it. After 20 minutes, she'd call on certain people and we'd share them with the class.

So I sat for a moment with an image in my head that I couldn't shake, and I went with it. Writing what I thought was quite a good poem for an in-class writing assignment, I jotted down what the image put into my pen. I was finished and quite proud when the 20 minutes was up, ready to share my poem with my classmates should Professor Jones call on me.

She began with one of the quiet boys who always sat in the back. He wrote about a tree. Then to a mousy brunette in the front row--she wrote about a rose. Then to the goth chick who I befriended later in the semester--she wrote about a gravestone. Then I heard a poem about a car, another about a lake, and yet another about a sneaker.

I looked down at my own poem, somewhat stricken. Maybe I had misunderstood the assignment. I looked to the chalkboard again to double check. No, I had done the right thing. Get an image and write a poem about it. I had nothing to worry about. And then Professor Jones said, "Kasey?"

"Uh," I responded, hesitating at first, and then deciding just to go with it, "um, my image was Ricky Martin in black leather pants at the Grammy's last night. It's called um, 'Oh Ricky!'"

There were plentiful chuckles and snickers, though no one was really laughing AT me. Totally unphased, Professor Jones swept her braids behind her shoulder, nodded to me and said, "go ahead."

And go ahead I did. And you know what? My poem was the only one people clapped for.

So... Thanks Ricky! Those ultra-tight, ultra-fine leggings that you shook your bon-bon in got me my first collegiate applause.

Today's quote is my poem. (And I'm just going to lump it all together because I can't code this stupid journal well enough to insert the proper breaks.

You, A heart-stopping, Jaw-dropping, Drool-inducing Vision In black leather pants. The pants Hugging you As a Masseratti on a mountain road. Creaking when You move, Or was that My knees, Making ready To turn To jelly? They, as perfect a fit As peanut butter and jelly, Or yin and yang, Or Mulder and Scully. Black As water At night, And Just as enticing.