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A 21st Century Slave to Her Master

"For i have but the power to kill,/ Without--the power to die--" ~Emily Dickinson

 

 

You need me. I know you.

 

That’s my kick. That I see

all of you above me

as a hairline

of grease.

 

Stop breathing

so hard. You get to

buy. You get to fade

into the townhouse

I imagine. I just kill

your need

and pretend it’s a kick

 

I need. I remember,

as you rape me,

all that time I spent

mulling

want ads for exotics.

Like those were jobs,

like that’d be power. For me.

 

I remember you

say, Thanks…

like I was real. Like you

don’t stink. Like the tatted devil

on the stair,

“john,” you paid

 

to master me. Like your death.

Yeah. Your

death—that’s the shit.

Not some kick. Not my rinky-dink

knowing

you over and over. The shit

 

is you handling me.

Like you would

a Colt, a Glock.

You aiming the sheen thing at

your temple.

And getting off

a clean shot.

 

 

((Originally published in The Philadelphia Review of Books))

 

 

Contact:

Jennifer Jean:  jennifer@fishwifetales.com

Aiko Nishioka (artist of paintings on this site):  aiko520@gmail.com

 

Website by: www.mywebsitesensei.com

 

If Galileo had said in verse that the world moved, the inquisition might have let him alone. 

~Thomas Hardy