The Talented Rapes of Our Time
Recently, my rapist flew into the room like a Pan Am pilot,
served low-country boil with
a colonizer’s smirk—
chicken wings served up with a guttery drip
of involuntary weeping. No one minds
a gulping rapist. I cried myself
radioactive, dismal steel—
peacocks of pain! My rapist
multiplied into two teenagers in a dorm room
picked clean of lies, but they
soon grew awkward, bored.… Read the rest