revision

Take the Red Line to Loyola

She blows smoke through matted strands
while the homeless ask if she has a place to stay.
She ignores their grime with only a fidget,
picturing herself at home on a park bench.

It’s late and she knows she’s sweet flesh
propped up against the subway concrete.
She waits for her stranger to retrieve her
and initiate her into this urban world.

Introductions take moments in November—
she follows obediently with quick steps as
he towers over her with a Travolta drag
and the stench of masculinity.

There’s a hello and he hands her a joint.
She’s crossed-legged on the couch just minutes
before he invites her into his room, his mouth,
and his god-like body.

She is woman inside his giant grasp,
terrified under his colossal form.
She needs to rip his body apart—
whisper against fingers and listen to palms

because his desire fulfills her now.
His body is firm and blankets her as she
trembles. For these moments she is beautiful;
In these moments she feels she is lovely.