by Kia Groom
In darkened theatres I split violent
& open wide this sick-sweet bag of treats.
The candy boy sticks scented fingers deep
inside, & gropes for something saccharine–
between my thighs I hold the icy drink.
The curtains raise & I snap bubblegum
the hue of flesh-light in my father’s room.
A boy’s hand takes my skirt hem hostage &
I breathe pleas into soft pink rubber sphere:
ur really pretty babe, I swear, u r
he said this: ur so fuckin sex c girl–
just girl & not my name, but who has time
for courtship when my body is this hot,
when all my holes are plastic pockets lined
with Grade A Vulvateen all silky slick?
I let this boy do things he wants & watch
the girls on screen unfurl their mutant limbs,
a freakish blend of flesh, all breasts and legs.
I snap the gum. I think of children’s toys.
How somewhere in a factory a girl
is hollowing a plastic baby head
in case of choking. How the boys would light
my Barbie dolls on fire, a perfect pyre
of melting mammaries, how this boy believes,
he owns this flesh, his fingers creeping,
bathed in light from six-foot
Your little sister is ripping phrases from magazines and books to use for her Mother’s Day collage card. She has space for one more phrase. Which do you choose?