He Slaps My Butt

Updated: Dec 12, 2017

He slaps my butt and says “ha-ha.”

My guts take a walk and my mind

tumbles forward. The joke was better last time.

This time it isn’t really making

sense and feels sour.


Moldy food that

could do permanent damage

but tastes o.k.


I am a child alone in the aisle and

you are not my mother.

I am taught to be afraid of

evil strangers. I am already a girl

alone don’t touch me

with your fingerprints,

I am a wet trembling

dog where is my owner.


You do not own me. You

do not believe me,

evil stranger who is not

moving. You are the night

after day and your hand

is outstretched like an offering.


A girl alone cannot refuse

what is offered her if it is offered

in kindness, a kindness dark and moving.

She is forward tumbling. Bodily guts of loss

tumbling through moldy food, a girl alone.


He slaps her butt and says “ha-ha” and

she says nothing and thinks

“I said the wrong thing.”

His hand was not really there,

was not moving, did not touch her

and yet touched her deeply. It moved

inside her without moving, ha-ha.


It was quick, a quick walk smoking

in the wrong direction, another moving-up

into the space of her she is never quite protecting.


A child alone in the aisle

who has forgotten the details

of her mother sees her mother

in the denim legs of everyone.

All the Pregos look the same, jars

of blood mush mocking the girl for

being lost without her mother.


Years later he slaps my butt and says “ha-ha”

and the momentum sends me tumbling.

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