Against the Wall
by Rebecca Balcarcel

man's voice braided with ice,
his hands iron clamps on my shoulders
forcing a kneel to cold bricks
belt ends hanging loose
button, dead eye, released from its socket
zipper -- the sound of needle
swiping across record
gun barrel
in my mouth

revved punk,
his breath a pumping accelerator,
my volition collapsing to a tangle
at the back of my throat,
letting a fist grip my hair,
tilt my head up and down --
my only "yes" --
bare knees grinding against
brick floor sand

boy, 17, and eager
leading to red bricks
by a sweaty hand,
to a corner where my skin
is filaments flaring on and off
where his mouth on my shoulder
spins nerve strands into pinwheels,
fear lacing between my teeth,
his pants around his knees
If you do it
he'll love you.

semen turns to brick
in my stomach;
I run across yellowed grass
to wretch,
to spit foamed salt onto weeds,
hair strands snagging on thistles,
hair ribbon dragging through mud

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