When He Asks To Fuck Me In The Back Of His Car by Andrea Lawler

I think of velvet and leather,
of trees being stripped
of their leaves, of leaving.

I think of high school
and summer and how I was raised
so Catholic my mother told

me I was no longer
allowed to wear white
to my wedding

if anyone was even willing
to marry someone like me.
I think of someone like me.

I think of a Ford Zephyr,
maroon-colored car-seats,
how my boyfriend told me

he was the only virgin left
in the sophomore class.
I think of how I knew

he was lying. I think of how hot
North Dakota stays at night
in September. I think about crying

to my sister, whose only advice
was to go to confession, apologize
to Our Father, but not tell our father.

I think of all the ways in which
I had said no that summer night,
how all he heard was yes.

Andrea Lawler is a poet, essayist, and short story writer. She holds a degree in English Language & Literature. Her poetry collection, “Let Me Take you Out of This Town,” debuts in February, 2023 from BullshitLit. She lives in North Dakota with her three cats.

I think of velvet and leather,
of trees being stripped
of their leaves, of leaving.

I think of high school
and summer and how I was raised
so Catholic my mother told

me I was no longer
allowed to wear white
to my wedding

if anyone was even willing
to marry someone like me.
I think of someone like me.

I think of a Ford Zephyr,
maroon-colored car-seats,
how my boyfriend told me

he was the only virgin left
in the sophomore class.
I think of how I knew

he was lying. I think of how hot
North Dakota stays at night
in September. I think about crying

to my sister, whose only advice
was to go to confession, apologize
to Our Father, but not tell our father.

I think of all the ways in which
I had said no that summer night,
how all he heard was yes.