to tower over a crouching girl
and pass her around in an ugly
twirl
hand to hand in a stranger’s love
smiling as her eyes beg how
to blame it on her choice of
dress
or how her lipstick shrieked yes
to call her a bitch and a whore
(see, she walked out of a pub’s
door)
to fault it on her easy dance
or a casual sideways glance
to seize in God-given goddamn
right
endorsed by bravado and by fright
to have her like a free Happy
meal
eaten, burped, hey no big deal
to then beat the shell that she
is
(what's a date without a
goodnight kiss?)
is the sickest crime in the land
and no, not what it means to be a
man.
ram cobain
