Summer Camp, Texas, 2009
First I wake the body
to unring a bell—
as the proctor rolls up
I slam down right on the tit
of the sexy mermaid we sculpted
in the sand pit.
Now I wind it
as a cannon.
As a watch.
Feel that cool burn—
the metal door between me
and more
metal. I mean I look down
the hall—a dead
contraband flip phone
smothered in my bunk
bed. The blue glintoff
the handcuffs
that the boy has waiting
for me. I remember
the story—swiped
from his cop dad. I remember
the feverish red marks they left
the first time.
A little fun.
A warning.
When boys become boys
with weapons
there’s little girls that become
more body
than girl.
I told his friend no
(even after that sick-
sweet letter—even after
the other girls said lucky)
so this body is the fine I’ll pay.
But it’s alright. I’ve trained for this.
I know how to anticipate the bite.
How to flip the widow spider
on its back and press—
to kill.
Rather than tell
the all-male camp counselors
I’ll take this screwdriver, this pike,
this ad hoc chainsaw
found under a park bench,
and step into the thunder dome..
