Thursday, July 31, 2008

my plan b

my plan b is to rationalize
to say, well, an egg only sticks around
for 12 to 24 hours
and we didn't fuck until 36 hours after
i felt the telltale cramps of ovulation

my plan b is to pretend that
a 30-minute bike ride, still tender-cunted
over jostling new orleans streets
in heady, heavy heat
to a shuttered planned parenthood is
just another saturday morning

my plan b is to fog out the memory
of the moment i relented
after the first condom came off
that wasn't replaced
my plan b is to pretend i wasn't on top,
that it wasn't my hand that guided you

my plan b is to blame myself
my plan b is to tell you to bring more condoms
my plan b is to put faith in pulling out
my plan b is to wonder how you seem to actually fuck my brains out
my plan b is to write this poem

my plan b was dispensed quietly
by a pharmacist named rhonda
she had soft brown eyes and soft brown hands
and i wanted her to take her hand and put it on mine
give it a gentle rub, and a maternal squeeze
instead she just told me it would be $47.95
i thanked her without looking her in the eye

Submitted by Cate Root

About the Author:

Cate Root is a sugar-tongued radical feminist word cunt, holding it down in 5th Ward New Orleans. She can be reached at nolariffic(at)gmail(dot)com or peep her out at

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