Tuesday, 6 May 2014

Gender Fender Bender

Our cars kissed bumpers
and in my rear-view mirror  you
looked like a boy, banging your
shorn head on the steering wheel, and you
looked like a boy when you
wrenched open my door to rant that I’d
stopped too quickly, all sweatshirt,
torn jeans and attitude, and you
certainly fucked like a boy in that
convenient motel, your aggression
taking me aback as you took me,
rode me, swallowed me, so that
it was only when your contented breath
ruffled my chest hair that your
girlness seeped out as you slept.

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