WEBVTT

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White Thighs.

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White Thighs.

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Three pre-teenage girls
on a crowded subway

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talking excitedly about what
they will see, and do, and buy

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downtown while near
them a man stares then

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twists away to look at the
slash and jab of the graffiti.

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He sees himself as
attempting to balance

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on the peak of a
steep metal roof.

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But once again he turns
back to watch the three

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girls in their grown-up dresses,
their eye shadow and painted

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mouths.

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How white the skin
must be on the insides

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of her thighs and their cunts,
with only a faint covering

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of down.

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He can almost taste their heat.

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He imagines his teeth pressed to
the soft flesh of their thighs.

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And for once more he
yanks back his head,

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like yanking a dog
on a leash until he

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sees his face in the glass of
a door, gray and middle-aged.

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The night, he
thinks, the night--

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meaning not simply
nighttime but those hours

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before dawn when
he feels his hunger

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as if it were a great
hulking creature

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in the hallway outside his
door, some beast of darkness.

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And again he feels
his head beginning

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to twist on its putrid stalk.

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White thighs-- to trip or
slip on that steep metal

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roof, his final
capitulation to the dark.

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