Don't It Make My Blue Eyes Green
Walking home after school.
My two best friends & I.
My father unloading the back of his truck.
Your father’s
so good-looking.
He’s totally
handsome.
The deer strung from the oak tree by its haunches.
The knife in my father’s hand.
How I hated them, how could they?
Going through my teenage heart.
So what his broad shoulders. Smalt eyes.
Rich hair. He was my father. Mine.
Not some heartthrob.
Some rock-n-roll demigod.
It might as well have been me dangling from the bough.
Chest ripped open.
Only the deer knew how I felt
as it oozed into a bucket.
Its brown eyes blue.
Losing My Innocence, Or Having Sex in Evelyn's Grandmother's House, in Evelyn's Bedroom While Evelyn Watched TV & Ate Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Ice Cream Out of the Container
It was romantic how afterwards when I locked myself
in the bathroom you asked what’s the matter then gave
up & joined Evelyn on the couch. Soon you were both
on the other side of the door trying to understand
why was I so upset.
Upset? I wasn’t upset. I was hysterical.
Inconsolable.
Overly emotional.
Wrecked.
Then I got over it.
That was as romantic as you ever
were to me. It—sex
with you—was what I expected it to be
—with me.
Unfortunately. The
following week you were
back in Evelyn’s bedroom with Evelyn. Not some crybaby.
