Focus on her wild eyes

Navy dress hits my knee,

cherry ringpop, tan 

pantyhose. Bus 189 slows to a stop 

at Kramer and Richmond.

Bye to our driver who looks

like MacGyver. Boys

and I get off and I walk   

home to a bungalow 

with green shutters.

I dont get far-- a blow

from behind sends me  

to ground. The “coolest”

of the bunch sits on top,

5pm sunlight, outside  

the store jolly ranchers cost

three cents. 

You stuff, You stuff he

laughs. The others
watch.  

For his protection

we'll call him Darrell.

Darrell reaches up navy

dress, gropes new breasts,

grabs handfuls

of leaves, shoves 

into bra. They scratch 

as they break

into pieces.

Dress at waist.

II

Darrell walks home, hears what
he hears most nights:

plate breaks into shards, father yells/mother
screams/slaps/groans: silence.
Darrell takes apart
his legos, piece

by piece.  Darrell lies
on his back, airplanes 

suspended over his bed.

III

Fifteen years later. Naked

ribcage, dreams of bloody

bird wings rinsed clean.

Drying off in the dark.

IV
In the blue barn I practice undressing myself.
The mare stares as I pinch a button—recalling,
I imagine my self under warm water, kissing a woman
until I'm airless, until each button—undone.
Focus on the mare's breath hitting the cold. Focus on her wild eyes--
not the Earth-feeling
of nakedness-- the screaming desire to trampoline
out of  body, twist my nipples into stones
to skip across the river.