Everything in Five Minutes

A new poetry blog. I am grateful to be included.

THANK YOU FOR SWALLOWING

He says, Everything. After she asks,
What’d ya want? Confused, she just leans over

giving him a better angle. A good angle can mean
everything. There are a few things

Chica knows: what men see in her is not one of them.
What does he mean everything? She grabs the sides of the grimy,

greasy locker-room bench which was once light oak, but now
is stained a dull grey from motor grease to give herself

some leverage. With each thrust she squeezes her eyelids
tighter to clear the mind so she can concentrate

on cumming. Each thought moves like a haunting. Ghosts
from the past appear showing that secret friendship

between the small girl she was who loved
playing on swings at the playground and that man

who showed her what little death means, before she grasped
the word sex. Behind her closed eyes she sees herself

waiting all day…

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