Our First Date
CW: Description of attempted assault
Put out or get out what you said
when I pushed you back, said no,
told you I was on my period,
bloody bog down there, you said
I don’t mind, be like skinning a fox.
You laughing, twisting toward me, your big hand
on my thigh, a dead weight moving, pulling,
your beer breath a fog in my face
when I clapped your ear and yelled. Put out
or get out you laughed, your hand closing steel
on my skirt, a fist pulling, an undertow,
me kicking back, shoving myself out
the truck door, going down backwards, cattails
and mud, the stench in my hair, my ears,
you laughing and grabbing, catching the door,
me scrambling crab backasswards in muck,
you revving then the spray of mud,
the instant arc, my skirt flying out
in the road then my backpack, you honking
as you went and laughing probably
and me starting to shake and cry.
The taste of cursing in my mouth
as I stand, all dirty and mad,
a bare-legged, bare-footed tar baby
determined not to be a number,
someone’s cliché, and start walking,
first deflated skirt, then pack,
then wishing my phone, my sandals
weren’t still riding in your cab.
Shit! How dumb can one girl be?
Cecil Morris, a 2021 Pushcart prize nominee, has poems appearing or forthcoming in Evening Street Review, Hole in the Head Review, New Verse News, Rust + Moth, Sugar House Review, and other literary magazines. A retired high school English teacher, he now tries writing himself what he spent so many years teaching others to understand and (he hopes) to enjoy.