Issue 11 | Summer 2012

The Porch

I don’t go out there. No way
not with the men
and the dogs and the chance
I might run into Marley
who might need a ride, her daughter
keeps stealing her car, not when
I could be inside with my books
BBC whispering civilized
on the radio, not when boys
on bicycles, belligerent and free, roam the alley
and to whom I might say “Hi!”
and they might laugh
their derisive pubescent laugh,
their too-cool-for-school-unwilling
lest-I-be-mistaken-for-a-faggot laugh and now, see,
I’m a girl again, punished
for leaving the house.

Filed under: Poetry