Generic Coca-Cola

(Written 8/2012)

I.

no tongue

to protest with

and no hands

to stop yours

from searching;

waist

hips

and thighs.

I’d gone too far

when I said ‘hello’

my presence must have

painted me as a willing vessel.

girls do not sneak

out of dorms

to settle for generic coca-cola

and friendly conversation

(Do they?)

you pictured me

with my shorts

down around my ankles

from the moment

you began to lazily sip

on your second Corona;

your lips,

in the way that they curled upwards,

testified to this.

II.

no predator.

no prey.

no protest.

only silence

and spiritless kisses

on the back of my neck.

no loving gazes,

only staring at plain, white blinds

on windows

that shared my same stiffness,

while you helped yourself

to my apathy

dined on my coldness

and mistook my numbness

for living in the moment.

III.

no glow afterwards

left only to wash

my lap repeatedly;

my face permanently tilted

downwards towards the sink

despite my best efforts,

I could not remove the grime

and

good night sleeps

seemed to fail to take away

the memories.

IV.

I still avoid

dark rooms

lit by a tv’s abandoned blue screen

and

I am struck with a

permenant straightness in my spine

when surrounded by

tipsy men in jovial atmospheres.

even nice guys can

smile just a little too wide

at the girl sitting on the couch

holding a generic coca-cola

because

surely she came to unwind

and have a good time,

…why else would she be here?

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