I Won’t Say The Name by Christopher McCarthy

Posted on May 21, 2019 by Bob McCranie

My friend’s rapist
three-day dry gluestick

I won’t say the name

retracting back into himself
revolting, captor.

The other two that came with him
lost erections

and eventually they let her go.

I remember the pillowed box
They put Joanie in after she died.

Peering in, Eily says
‘No, it doesn’t look like her.’

All of these rooms are what they are.

Virginia’s bedroom, too,
stabbing her knife into the drywall
violence screams
‘fuck the security deposit!’

Jack and I sleep feet to face,
face to feet in her bedroom.

V went off and slept somewhere else.