[ pamela anderson and me (poem) ]
He took his earring and slid it through his lip;
he later showed me his sloppy
pink tongue could house the earring, too.
We were drawn like Bacardi to my brain;
slowly we would bubble in each other’s veins,
chemicals tingling through our bones.
He was twenty-six and commanding,
I was seventeen and pliable.
We kissed in the mall near the food court,
his tongue slid in my mouth;
his tongue-ring hit my teeth.
That first week he decided he wanted me forever;
I was his sweet, young shorty.
He said our theme song was “Choke Me, Spank Me (Pull My Hair).”
Maybe Xzibit should have warned me.
We went to his handicapped brother’s house,
who wasn’t home,
and he took my clothes.
He pulled a butterfly knife out of his pocket
and said, “You know I’d never hurt you, baby,
unless you did me wrong.”
He ignored my crying.
It felt like I was losing my virginity all over again.
Only the poster of Pamela Anderson saw me.
Later in my clothes,
I floored my Celica, threw
gravel onto the porch,
and cried like a child.