The Rose

The Rose
By Erin L George

it bleeds into concrete
settling there as gentle men watch the evening news
she waddles down the driveway
off to fetch the mail -
bills are due on Saturdays

and you'll tell me that i scream too loud, begging you
tell me:
what kind of dog would run from a bitch, crying out in heat?

wolves howel, pissing on their territory
it bleeds down her leg
still warm now from his thrust -
she grins, waving at the soccer moms
walking dogs down Parkway Ave
nibbling on her fingers

she'll tell you that you look just fine, tempting you
tell her:
what kind of soldier kneels before his enemy?

strong men stride, marching toward their call
bleeding all the same
they'd rather bite their tongues off
than be caught shivering -
they grin, nodding at the higher ups
shuffling off to dine
shoveling down mystery meat

you tell me it's funny, taunting me
tell me:
what kind of women have you fucked?

vixens drink of rivers, swimming in their lust
prickle of a thorn
they arch their backs to take it all inside
tiring easily -
they grin, wiping away laugh lines
soaked in Maybelline
twisting salty nipples

as it bleeds there in the concrete
napping on a summer's day
careful not to overlook the breeze of passing traffic
and those too busy to notice.