backseat

leaning on the hood
of a little white car
waiting
for a little white girl.

he chose her.
he wants her.
he wants a ride
to the hospital.
what can she say?
of course she'll say
okay.

little white car
backseat full of lipstick and bikinis and clumsy, desperate fumblings of inexperienced fingers and mouths.
backseat that steams and fogs and smells like deodorant and chewing gum and drugstore cologne.
backseat that isn't quite ready.
not yet.
just want to know it's right.
wants it to be special, perfect.
like the first time should be.

clawing and crying and tearing and pushing back
scratches down his back.
wrists just small enough;
backseat just big enough.

little white girl
he chose her.
'cause he's ready.
knows it's right.
special.
perfect.