I met them by the silo outside
Joy Prairie. They’d called the mall
pay phone until someone picked
up. I always picked up. I was Orange
Julius forever then I was blackest
coffee. I brought them saltwater taffy
to chew on while they looked
me over. They palmed their smokes
with a practiced hand. I asked
for consent and I shucked down
my dress and after their
applause I let them see
my State Fair heart. We went
to the hot dog parking lot. They
taught me to drive their Toyotas.
They were my first time. There were
others later. Other tablecloths on
tables. Another radio. Men who
would dive down through grain
to retrieve things I’d thrown
in. Who wanted a Midwest map.
Asked what did they do to you
back then I always said
everything.
Brittany Cavallaro's poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Gettysburg Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, Best New Poets 2011 and elsewhere. She was a finalist for the 2011 Ruth Lilly Fellowship and is currently a PhD candidate at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee.
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