Fallout (Crank 3)

would lose interest

in me long before

asking that question.

Chunks of truth thump

round in my brain like rocks

in a tumbler: They were

too young, clueless,

selfish. Hell-bent

to party, to fight,

to find trouble. Mired

heart-deep in love,

in pain, in addiction.

But I don’t want to talk

about the monster, don’t

have the courage to say

“prison.” These words

define me as a freak.

And so, as Bryce turns

into the designated

student parking lot,

pulls into a space, a lie

(at least I think it’s a lie)

leaks from my mouth.

“My parents are dead.”

TEARS POOL IN MY EYES

Bryce mistakes embarrassment

for sadness. He reaches for me,

pulls me against the comforting

beat of his heart. Oh, baby,

he whispers. I’m so sorry.