Dogs bark, mosquitoes bite.

Doors can slam, and tents can be zipped up angrily. Maybe a fist fight will ensue, maybe not. Perhaps a robber will hold you up. Or maybe you’ll get hit by a car.

But, despite those things…

I found a sock in a parking lot.

Punching out Bo’s bits.

See, the thing about that bitch is… Her fucking sheep came back.

Bo can fuck the fuck off.

Wag that, bitch.

Imperfect blips in history.

Silently, She waits…

Maybe for a train, maybe on a lover to arrive, maybe on her child to be let out of school…

She waits, and the minutes fall like down feathers, so slowly, getting caught on every curve of the wind.

Through this time she’s forced into herself, hard, without apology. It causes her to reflect onto the shames that once were. The silhouetted ghosts of time since passed.

Perhaps it was that drunken night when she let four men fuck her in a row.
Maybe it was when she lifted more Oxycontin from her dying mother that she should have.
Or, it could have been as simple as forgetting to sign a field trip permission slip and throwing a ruckus at the school about not properly informing parents of important times.

Idly, she waits and sifts through these unspoken things.

It’s important to her to maintain this unshakable persona. Never, despite the intimacy of a family, of a lover, of the strangers, will she let on to this secret life of being a woman, of being a whore, of being a mother.

Every last one of them carries such a bag.
Some of them relish this privacy, forcing a secret and seductive smile onto her lips. While others, deny like any good religion instructs.

Because after all, no matter the handling,
If you ignore it, it will go away.