i heard the yawpers howlin' at the moon, as they
stumbled outta the blue beater and crashed into trashcans...
i heard 'em comin' and -- silly girl -- i laughed to myself.
thought they were pretty funny, all liquored up and wild.
i was at home alone, i recall, but unafraid
after all, this was...well...home;
wearin' a threadbare indian print dress - standard hippie attire,
and sandals and -- damn it -- nothing else.
my hair was in a loose braid down my back and i had on those
aztec earrings that i liked so much but later threw away
the fools almost broke the sliding door as they
executed a comedy drill straight outta laurel and hardy,
both tryin' to get into the house at the same time
(i wonder if that's why laurel and hardy makes me cry)
i looked at them and shook my head and -- stupid ass - laughed
harder
someone (you?him?) shoved a brown paper bag into my arms and said
"Pour"...so i did. one for you. one for him, and then...after you looked
at each other and then back at me and said "well?" (DON'T DO IT) i poured
one for me too -- damn it damn it
damn
the wind through the dead trees on the thawing lake made a rustling noise
and dogs could be heard barking in the distance...
why the fuck didn't i run
why
why
why
we all laughed...he'd said something clever but had gotten it turned round
wrong -- just as would turn me round wrong later
(RUN RUN RUN)
you picked up the bottle and topped off our three glasses
and made a toast - something bawdy...chaucer, maybe?
(RUN NOW)
and
i laughed the hardest -- bloody fool -- of all three of us...
as he touched my thigh, i was surprised and looked at you
you smiled. he smiled. so i....smiled
i think -- spaced out bimbo -- i did.
the bourbon on his breath stunk to high holy hell, mixed with the smell of
decaying teeth and sickly-sweet aftershave
(is that why i hate the smell of english leather?)
his hands pulling and pushing, squeezing and ripping, probing...and then
(HIT HIM! PUSH HIM AWAY! RUN! RUN! RUN!)
oh god
jesus
your hands
(GOTCHA!)
too.
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