Ted Bundy Moments
You said yes to a beer,
on Tinder. When you stretch up to
bump his cheek, hand-on-arm hellos
half-drunk and triumphant
I think of the times I have gone out.
I think of the times
my sister has gone out. We are too old to leave notes,
we know how to
quote, un-quote: “Be Safe.”
I tell you, in the stage before
hair half done, one
glittering eye on the time –
that they have apps now,
apps to squash the peril of
the other apps
their new brainwave: shake your phone if you feel unsafe
a rape alarm will work in most apartments
and in all hotels.
You laugh, tuck a bag under your arm
like a jewel. Relax. Are you having the
Ted Bundy moments again? Remember when
we had drinks with men whose eyes
shone like polished glass in bars
too dark to come home from and
we made out with exes
we didn’t know from Adam?
We’ve always done this. It’s okay. It’s OKAY.
You’re ready. This one’s
in your laugh I hear
Bludgeoning. Suitcases in Wan Chai.
Itty-bitty scrapings closets manacles rapings tied up phoneless homeless missing missing missing
all good wholesome fun. You’re gone and
my phone feels like it’s burning. You won’t call.
TB moments are funny until you wake up at 3am
knowing there’s been no key in the lock.
Don’t be a Killjoy, my sister said. It’s fun to have fun.
Alone in the dark
I fret my duvet like a worry-stone
we laughed about your coming
being the most important thing –
God bless me when I meet a guy
who gives good head, you said
and there are plenty of good guys, not all men –
are you coming home?