Impala 1975 by Kristin Garth
Inside his Impala, he has little
patience for you, driver with only a
skewed rectangular rearview — spilled skittles,
pristine vintage interior, wet thighs splayed.
He holds in a lot he doesn’t say. Crazed
driver daddy pulls down your dress. You enter
Taco Bell rolling. He says you best behave —
to both of you, passenger daddy, center
of booth. You break nachos like a family.
Modelesque daddies allow tiny you to
be naturalistic, some practicalities.
One sets you free. One tells you what to do.
One counts each bite you take of seasoned rice.
One knows how much you cum & still thinks you’re nice.
Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Rhysling nominated sonneteer and a Best of the Net 2020 finalist. Her sonnets have stalked journals like Glass, Yes, Five:2:One, Luna Luna and more. She is the author of 20 books of poetry including Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (Hedgehog Poetry Press), Flutter Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press), and Girlarium (Fahmidan Journal). She is the founder of Pink Plastic House a tiny journal and co-founder of Performance Anxiety, an online poetry reading series. Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie) and her website: kristingarth.com