She sniffs the fresh air
at the open window.
He has left the room
to go shower or ****,

she doesn’t give a ****.
It was all a mistake,
a girl’s dilemma, not
wanting to be left on

the shelf as her mother
sweetly put it. The doll,
with the loose arm or
wonky eye, is the exact

words she recalls, looking
back at the room where
a short while ago he’d
juiced her orifice for sure.

There is a smell of farm
animals on the air, freshly
mown grass, the sounds
of cows and birds and a

dog barking. Her mother
said the first time will
seem a little uncomfortable
but hang in there it will

get better, her mother’s
words echo, the tone, her
breath carrying the words
almost adding some of her

own excitement. None felt,
the first time, a big shock
to her system, a plunging
into some kind of hell. That’s,

how it is, he said, groping her
****, the first time for a girl. She
looks at the countryside, fields,
trees, birds in the sky, county lanes,

a house or two and this old small
hotel he’d found on the journey out.
She seems to leak, his stuff seeping
Slowly from her, sticky and damp.

Mother spoke so beautifully of the
first time and love and such how her
heart and mind would feel. All she
can think and say is: big ******* deal.