Back to Issue Eight.

Sexual History



There was a boy, a bathroom.
I don’t want to talk about that.

I want to talk about the girls I kissed in Texas.
The cuter one was fat, Christian, an astrophysicist,

the other one had a cross burned into her
hand. I want to talk about the boy

(fat, too, but not as cute) who said that if I was
going to run my fingers under the water fountain

until I was ready to stick them in an electrical socket,
I should at least kiss him first.

I don’t want to think about three Marches ago,
dumb and drunk on gasoline beer, the four mouths

that congealed like lard to mine, the way I picture myself
gasping, a fish in crude oil, the way I didn’t pull away.

What I want now is a boyfriend
with a mouth like a black hole.

Lucy Wainger‘s poems have appeared in Vademecum Magazine, Black & BLUE, and Best Teen Writing of 2013. She is a sophomore at Stuyvesant High School in New York City.