When I was younger

I had been proud to say that

if a man were to come to me

demanding my virginity

or my life

like Perpetua

I would guide the gun

to my own head

and die rather than

give up my body

but when my time came

he didn’t have a gun

or a knife

just a pill that fizzed

on the way to the bottom of my cup


(or it should have — so sinister an

act shouldn’t have gone out with

such little flourish)


and I didn’t even fight

just sat there

laid there

floating in a dream where I could

slit my throat

but he never even gave me a choice

not even the decency to

supply me a gun

nor a threat

just an apology

and a bagel sandwich

in the morning

and the promise that he’d never tell

and that the secrets of my body

would remain that way

to everyone

but him

But it’s alright

though he persisted

I kept my promise

The joke’s on him.

That bastard

raped a corpse.








Photo by Clint McMahon