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