His lust recruited off the rack. By crop
you’re broken, hands behind your back. You’re led
to bed, what’s wrecked repaired. Scarlet teardropped
back soothed between some silver hair/bedspread.
Her husband had you on the floor. Sex show,
a party favor, she saw more. “This play pretend
will numb young hearts. They’re real, my blows.
They tear apart. It’s hostile, but you mend.”
“A test,” she says you passed, in bed. Takes nude
pictures; lifts your head. “My friend, I find
him girls like you. A pretty servitude
to suffer true” — so little left behind.
A party mistress, photos, pain one night,
your ticket, tears, to torture, city lights.
King of the Road
It starts with snaps, a song for smacks. A muss
of hair, he muses music then attacks.
His hotel suite, and you’re the show. Surplus
of eyes that you don’t know. Pinstripes on back
of chair, a skirt scarlet, flared, barely there,
“A spanking for my southern girl,” crimson
handprinted ass of pearl. A chat affair
begets plane fare, across his lap, winsome
wet whimpers, without underwear. Circuit
of parties, master’s ring, a man of means,
acquires another pigtailed thing to hurt.
First date obscene, discovery nineteen,
first spanking of a thousand he bestows,
first audience of many on the road.
Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola and a sonnet stalker. Her sonnets have stalked magazines like Five: 2: One, Glass, Anti-Heroin Chic, Occulum, Drunk Monkeys, Luna Luna, TERSE. Journal and many more. Her chapbook Pink Plastic House is available from Maverick Duck Press, and she has two forthcoming: Pensacola Girls (Bone & Ink Press, Sept 2018) and Shakespeare for Sociopaths (The Hedgehog Poetry Press Jan 2019). Follow her on Twitter: @lolaandjolie