Volume 25, Number 3


after Jan Beatty

The first co-ed sleepover in ninth grade/ I couldn’t wait to stay up eating pizza and singing karaoke/then woke up to fingers/crawling under my shirt./ The handsy professor/ is just a little eccentric, don’t be a bitch about it./ The wrinkled priest/ said offering my future husband a non-virgin body/was like serving him a TV dinner./ The doctor prescribed Midol for my depression./My mania was bad PMS./ The man who sent the picture I didn't ask for./ The one from the bar who said/ I’d like to stick it in you./ The cab driver /pulled up to the curb and jerked off /while I ate my breakfast on the sidewalk./ His rotten-egg breath/ The stranger wormed under the crack of my door while I was sleeping/ Didn't invite him there./When I screamed, he asked for my phone number./ The bald neighbor stared into my window for hours/ I dragged my mattress into the closet./ Could still feel his eyes searing through my shirt/ The boy tagged cunt across my face in his yearbook and showed the whole lunch room./ I wouldn't fuck him after the prom./ A real bitch./ The football team./ The wrestling team./ The night in the laundry room./ His picture was hanging up in my locker all year/ I must have wanted it./ The poet got off /on trying to duct tape me back together./ The most difficult repair in his collection of broken teacups./ The boyfriend left me for the girl with less anxiety around men./ Said he didn't want his children to inherit my plague./ The lab partner said/ dude, that chemistry test raped me./ The boy’s mouth was a keg stand./ And his roommate./Who watched him fuck me when I was too drunk to stand./I hope you felt like you were directing a porn./ I’m sorry I don’t remember if I liked it./ But I vacuumed the carpet in the morning./ This wasted bitch made such a mess./ The RA lost his job because I snitched to the dean about where his hands had been./The motherfucker’s mattress/ is stained with my blood./ I hope you think about me every time you change your sheets./ The creep I was issued an order-of-no-contact against/sitting in my creative writing class/ I hope you like this poem./ I hope you recognize yourself in these characters./Any resemblance to actual people is completely intentional. To the men who will hear this /and write me off/ as just some bitch / I am.

—Chelsea Coreen