Look Away Dumb Bitch

Most women crave attention.
You can see it all over their faces as
they walk down the street.
You can see it in the way they ignore you.
The way they play dumb.
Play dumb in sundresses and slouchy bags.
Every last one of us.

I’m at a crowded lake alone.
I’m on the shore under a grove of
droopy Fir trees and I have my legs
and my pink dress and it’s warm.

All afternoon I’ve been needing cheered up.
It’s more than that–I have to somehow stay afloat.

I stare out at the pale gray lake with its buoys
and children
and tall,
blades of sea grass.
My life could be worse,
I could be in there,
cut up.

A car rolls by.
A clean shaven man looks at
me from inside of it.
He wants my bloody pussy.

A figure in the passenger’s seat
cranes their neck to see me.

The car parks.
There is a raft up top.
Out climbs a husband and wife,
as evident by a child.
The child looks my way.
I check out the man.
I look away.
I look back.
A family.
A threesome.
No doubt they’ve had bad times,
like I’m having now.
They are unhappy too, aren’t they?
Stop staring at the family.
I think to myself.
It’s rude.
You do not belong.
You are not allowed to do this.
Look away. Don’t look at the man.
He only glanced at you, fool.
You know who loves you?
Your boyfriend.

I silently permit the poor wife to kick my ass.
I am a dumb bitch, even if I do look away.
I disgust myself.

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