Recruit
She slept briefly, the reach,
too long now, gone.
Too many sloe gins.
Fifteen.
Brought the
inevitable. New York
was never a lesson
learned.
You were not born
yet.
Her poetry in her belly.
Rumpled beds. Blanket
on the backseat.
A no adult zone.
To remember Is to lose.
Again.
The rustle of the
rubber
tree. Cat calls,
loud farts.
More, pulled out guns.
The bulge was
caused by a
magazine.
She, on the floor
of the aforementioned
seat of springs, could
not stop the
whack of boys
whose underwear
was washed by
a mother of
some, as yet
unknown,
red handed chapped
and oh so tired
Former
Recruit
Caroline Shank
9.1.2024