poetry

“get it”

I walk to spin class
the teacher is a woman
middle aged
kind of beautiful
a 6 out of 10
in the greater Los Angeles area
maybe an 8 in Chicago

she makes us listen to
Nirvana
I roll my eyes
“go back to Chicago,”
I think

she has on gray spandex
that shines when she
sweats
I can’t stop staring
at her boobs
as she sways
and yells at us
to “get it”

my body tenses
I remember how you
used to say
“get it”
as you fucked me
commanding my
response like
an overbearing
father

I look to the left
to avoid seeing my eyes
in the mirror
I stare at a man
instead
he
makes me laugh with
his desperate
noises and
heavy breathing

I wonder if he
has ever told
a woman to
“get it”
while his penis
penetrates her
body
I laugh again
imagining

I bite my lip

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