Writers write their reality into being. My veracity is devastating
telling of tragedy (maybe I can write myself happy), no saviors or climax
that doesn’t end in a casket or straitjacket or terminated pregnancy.
Girl in the bathroom asks me for a tampon.
I think I have one
Fish around my backpack,
trying to look young when I trudge through campus
to catch the bus. I check out the Frisbee players,
cover my bags with sunglasses,
cover my arms with denim sleeves,
cover my tracks with torn contraception.
and my first thought is
get rid of it. I know what five percent chance means
and the joke’s on me.