don’t talk
as much as city boys
their arms are bigger
they can drive a stick
they don’t care
about restaurants
or perfume
they like to do it
all the time
anywhere
they have things
they keep
in boxes, like old snake
skins or buttons
from swap meets
I loved one once
he liked to do it
in my parents’
summer cottage
when they were out
getting vegetables
he’d scoop me up
like a fireman saving
my life, toss me
on the calico print couch
damp with salt air
my ass burned
from rubbing
against the coarse fabric
he gave me a hickey
the size of a heart
I watched it fade
like the sunset
as I took the ferry
back home