‘Blacktop’ by Kristin Garth

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You say blacktop midnight. Wear what we like:
fishnets, converse, the script rehearsed. Her name
is Babydoll, flashlight, pink bike, a slight
panhandle drawl, a tunnel chase, old game
you craved. Grade school reunion turned ribald,
depraved. Plaid ribbons, plaits in grownup hair,
no chaperones or underwear. Recalled
details, two decades old, remixed, brisk air,
curved concrete cold. Black diamond rip, you slip
inside. On gravel, she is sanctified,
transported to you young again — to lips
who whisper playgrounds to sullied minds.
She seeks vanquishment though she will run & hide.
She draws a map for you upon blue lines.

Kristin Garth is a kneesock enthusiast and a Best of the Net nominated sonnet stalker. In addition to Soft Cartel, her poetry has stalked magazines like Glass, Yes, Five:2: One, Anti-Heroin Chic, Former Cactus, Occulum, Luna Luna, & many more. She has a chapbook Pink Plastic House (Maverick Duck Press), two forthcoming: Pensacola Girls (Bone & Ink Press, Sept 2018) and Shakespeare for Sociopaths (The Hedgehog Poetry Press Jan 2019). Her full length, Candy Cigarette, is forthcoming April 2019 (The Hedgehog Poetry Press). Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie), her weekly poetry column (https://www.rhythmnbone.com/sonnetarium) and her website (kristingarth.wordpress.com).

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