Raped
by C Ra McGuirt
I: Not A Good Tuesday
to Las Palmas in a storm, accused
of forcing an open portal.
the sword of the State over my head
for going on three days.
my Life on trial. my Religion.
my penchant for throwing drunk pizza.
my theatrical suicide nonattempts.
my choice to keep a room for God
in the house where she was welcome
before she ran away
for the final time, and i came to know
i had chosen ill
again.
in the Palmas, my place. the rain
now slowed to a drizzle. the storm remains.
my words on paper and through the air
sent her over the precipice.
i couldn’t finish my taco salad.
i might be eating prison food
if her word enjoys belief
in the Office of Prosecution.
i wonder if she truly believes
that i took her against her will.
she might. she once believed
that aliens were after her.
in the Palmas, and nothing to do.
the detective took my statement
and said that she would call
if and when the Powers
decide that i might be
what i despise.
in the Palmas. two pretty women
are sitting at the next table.
i wince and turn my eyes away.
in the Palmas. my third margarita
is empty, and my cigarettes
are gone. i must go home and wait,
my fate in foreign hands.
oral rape is a terrible thing.
i speak as one who knows.
II. Partners
most poets don’t know cops.
most cops have no use for poets.
now i belong to Sex Abuse.
dance with me, Detective.
III. Breaking Up
the most important
woman
in my life
this
week
called and left
a message
saying (in so many words)
that she wouldn’t
see me again:
“Mr. McGuirt,
this is Detective Donnegan.
that case has been dropped,
so forget it.”
sometimes it’s nice
not to be
wanted.
