I always
pull my punches
playing Scrabble—
just this after-
noon, for instance,
with a potential
triple-word,
my holding back an
R
that spelled out
RAPE,
like what you went
through years ago,
my laying down
instead
a tail-less primate,
beating his savage
chest, seizing by force
the female
of his choosing ,
then again, no—
to imitate,
to mimic the tenant
below us
doing laundry,
her bulging , puffy
cheeks
much like a
chipmunk’s;
the one who’s
scrubbing the crimson
from her nightgown,
while we’re busy
with our chuckles,
who scrubs and scrubs
and scrubs
when no one’s looking.
Andreas Gripp
September 21, 2024
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