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"Voice"
Worn, red sneakers tramp
through roadside gravel
to an I-10 trucker's diner
three miles up the way.
Sweat begins beading
between her breasts,
rolling down her stomach like
an unstoppable stream of tears.
She begs for cool evening air.
Pocket change jingles
a buck ninety-two, promising
a cold soda-pop, maybe
a pack of gum.
Her stomach feels three days empty.
She slept in a ditch last night,
awoke when summer rain began
pounding through her dreams.
What time had it been?
Not quite dawn, yet the sky
had been breaking blue.
He is coming for her -
his breath hard on her neck,
hot like the midday sun
high over this Texas interstate.
Later, in a public bathroom stall
she sleeps fitfully in a corner
whimpering from memories of his fists,
forcing away the bore of his eyes.
She can never escape Daddy's voice.
"Tilt"
She spirals, falling
toward empty oceans
and forgotten smiles,
naive fantasies
of womanhood's grace.
Menopausal days are filled
with puffy lids and varicose veins,
cellulose thighs, drooping breasts;
mirrors are void of reflection.
Her suzy-slut strapless dress
hangs hidden scandalously
behind floral moo-moos,
fat-lady sweats and oversized
multi-color tanks.
Chewed, red nails
avoid soft, tender turn-ons
that once made her scream
in animalistic delight;
these days sex, even alone,
is taboo.
Through night sweats
and insomnia,
Ben and Jerry binges,
her mantra is
this too shall pass.
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