little 15

By Denise R. Weuve

your black fingernails
.and purple hair
could send a young girl
.screaming, but i
in catholic school
.uniform was
green for you.  wanted
.your easy life,
our alley nights with
.southern comfort.
while nuns preached gospel
.spells to me, you,
the prodigal son
.pocketed your
pick from the fat of
.women’s thighs, and
brought gifts of sooty
.eyeliner and
peroxide to me.
.i remember
the neon nights, the
.back of your ford,
and the sinking, when
.the riotous
living was ending.
.your roots began
bleeding and the farm
.boy surfaced.  soon
the banshees would mean
.nothing to us
and o.m.d. would
.be three over
used letters; i
.never made you
say good bye.  how could
.i?  pushed and shoved
your father had bought
.new silken robes
and killed the fattest
.calf for your return.