Little Cunt

Admittedly, I shouldn’t have flipped him
the bird as I changed lanes last minute, but that

was after he cut me off. I turned right; he go
pissed at my middle finger. The truck pulled

up alongside the passenger door. The young guy,
shirtless, tan, and on steroids, yelled into the open

window to my boyfriend beside me (like I
wasn’t even there): I wanna know why the fuck

that little cunt gave me the finger! I stared through
the thick windshield imagining a shattered jaw:

little cunt little cunt little cunt.

The way he followed us made me think
of the trucker traveling I-10 on the 4th of July

who peered in my window as he jerked off
against the setting sun. Outside the restaurant

built cooks tattooed with tear drops and more
names than a graveyard stood smoking. Reluctant,

he sped away. I thought of his girlfriend,
or any girl he’s fucked: his knuckles pressed

into the small of her back; his cock shoved
through her teeth; his bicep jerking her head as he says:

little cunt little cunt little cunt.


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