You were led into the parking lot behind     Woolworth's
when the midnight world was bandaged with snow
and the veins in the thermometers were almost bloodless.
Maybe it was after the picture show, probably
your first time ever with him or any man.
You get in, slump on the backseat of his Buick.
The door slams behind him. He begins
by whistling some new hit tune of the nineteen twenties
while your breasts pillow his head. Then fingers burrow into
buttonholes until your coat loosens. A stir in the dark
As he licks your hand. You try to shift the weight
of his back from your lap, try to sit straight and ladylike.
But he is strong and determined as he turns and presses you down.
His lips nibble your chin, and the juicy meat
of his mouth smells of gin as his tongue races
across your tongue. Your neck stiffens as his fingers
scurry like trapped rodents along your spine.
You sob, cry out, ask him to stop. He is no longer
kind and sensitive, he becomes ravenous, kisses gnaw
at your throat, a knee grinds into your thigh.
You twist for breath, and he pulls at your dress
until it rips. But you are still innocent - enough
to hope, even to pretend. You quickly reach out
to calm him, coax him to be gentle, beg him to wait.
Your words excite him, your fears arouse his need to hurt.
Nails claw at your midriff, a snarl builds in his throat.
Now he is pushing and slapping. He must take you,
he must tame you for the loveless years to come.
You wait expectantly, you are confused and afraid.
Afterwards, you know the cold threat of his hands.
He will tear at you, strip you bare. And I was born.