The other day I lost a poem,
a silly trying to be serious poem about whores raging in the ocean
I wrote it as a tribute to my menstrual cycle
the moans of whores
whores moans
moaning whores
hormones
“angry sluts of the sea” I called them
really they are just me
whoring about
moaning and groaning as I creak into my late 30’s almost 40’s
grey hairs wiry whips-intact and shredding my credibility
with the teens I counsel about sex and other topics
they can’t talk about with their parents, boyfriends etc.

Today while driving I rode past where I work
people were protesting with crosses and rosary beads
and big pictures of the virgin mary
it was cold, they were cold
I wanted to shout
“what’s so bad about birth control?”
but I didn’t
I might be a raging whore
but I am not yelling at freezing people who are praying to jesus about
the pill and perhaps a new pair of boots and warm mittens.
Let them freeze maybe when they go home to thaw they will talk to their daughters about sex
so I don’t have to.

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