Poetry | Michelle D'costa

Photo by B.M. Barbeito

 A year of dating an asshole
Ordered to stay still, eyes shut. Challenges thrill.
Hot men danced before me like shapely women to a rishi.

Blessed who can’t see yet believe. I knew they’re hot.
Hot men have ways of communicating exactly how they are

out of my league.

Repetitive steps sent vibes; my eyelids twitched.
Lost the challenge; eyes pried open. One pitied me though,

way one backtracks outside church to drop 100 fils
into a beggar’s bowl. Beggar owes that generous being.

A salute, a prayer, a blowjob if the beggar wants more.

 Our first date, he confides,  I have superpowers. If I disappear,
 You’ll never find me. Had to look after him well. Way the chimp

 is cared for at the zoo, for tourists. Female friends
 warned he wouldn’t last. Misconstrued concern for jealousy.

Symptom of inexperience, please understand.

Friend’s husband crosses the border every day
for a living. He confided about women there who

visit male doctors for imaginary ailments to be seen
and touched.  A corpse since...a year now,

won’t you take a look at this rotting flesh?

Yes, I know which part began to rot when.
What took me so long? Would I be taken seriously

if I was only beginning to rot?

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