The town’s too small not to know everyone’s secrets.
JC Lee
The pedophile sits at the bar talking to a
pseudo-intellectual,
doesn’t-look old-enough-to-be-in-here,
I’ll-be-conned-into-the-woods
kind of boy
while the rapist-never-brought-to-charges
finds a mark in I’ve-been-raped-repeatedly
and tries to gain her trust.
Always-cheats-on-her-boyfriend has found
never-knows-it’s-not-really-love
and, off in some obscure corner, I sit,
wishing I didn’t know about the urophile
or the pseudoman who’s proud of fucking
for a continuous, solid, unbelievable
eight minutes.
There should be more mystery than this
more secrets that actually stay as such.
No one should have to know these things
and be impotent to change them.
