how is it that the smell of a
a shriveled little thing in my pantry
is enough to excuse myself from
every family barbecue
for the rest of my life?
or how the smell
of a decaying clam on the shore
is enough to resent the sun
and the sea.
i don't enjoy summers like i did as a girl.
they are not fun
age twenty one
i learn that sex is supposed to be fun,
here lies a new and profound idea
pleasure is foreign to me,
i don't speak fun.
i convince myself that i liked it each time
my lover falls asleep next to me,
his soft penis looks wrinkled
and it makes me sick.
soon i learn that i am capable of feeling
pleasure the way my lover does,
terrible thoughts linger like a bad smell.
i cannot shake them.
it clings to you forever
like chain restaurant grease.