The wine we shared did it. You leaned in
and offered me some killer advice
because we both turned to look at the brunette
who passed our table on the way to the bathroom—
Since you’re into chicks, you might as well
think as if you had a dick.
You have the power of preemptive strike.
Just follow her into the john,
wait until she leaves the stall, then push her
against the wall. Take what you want.
Most guys won’t admit it, but
if we had our way we’d knock you down,
spread your legs and plunge
ourselves into what we want.
I consoled myself with all that could have been worse
than discovering you were the kind of man
my father would have loved, the kind
of man who considered a woman nothing
more than split and cleft, orifice, cavity,
study in absence, a maw, a void;
worse than my girlhood, litany of less than
my father hammered into me
the worst of his words exhumed, corroborated
by the pick and spade of your confession,
Hija, a key that opens many locks is a master key;
don’t be the slut with the busted deadbolt.
I’d rather kill you,
than let you become a whore.
At least I didn’t rape you.
Don’t you know how lucky you are?
Caridad Moro-Gronlier is the author of Visionware (Finishing Line Press, 2009). She is the recipient of an Elizabeth George Foundation Grant and a Florida Artist Fellowship. Her work has appeared in The Notre Dame Review, The Comstock Review, The Crab Orchard Review, MiPoesias, The Lavender Review, and others. She resides in Miami, FL.