Scalped

02.01.99
11.30.03

You fold back my labia from my
sullen clit like a charwoman slicking back
greasy, sticky layers of brown paper wrapping
from day old trout. You sniff, suspiciously,
prodding for freshness, waiting for illegitimate
wriggling evidence of life. Waiting for an
excuse to check me, slap me down.
I am being scalped, with all the ensuing
metaphysical horror.