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toxic curls in the
stairwell at my feet,
soft voices rising,
pheromone fog.
He was still there,
my silver knight,
flirting with some
fallen Guinivere in
short shorts and a cropped T.
I kept to the shadows,
observing the game
I hadn’t dared play,
absorbing the rules
with adhesive eyes.
The Rules
Uncomplicated, this
child’s game.
He says, Please?
She says, “Can’t.”
He, Why not?
She, “I’m not that kind of a girl.”
Then she spends twenty
minutes disproving
the theory, until
Mother calls, Hija?
She answers, “Mama?”
Mother, Come inside now.
She, “Be right there.”
It’s a lie. He pulls her
into his lap, silencing
