Image by Jean Froideveaux

and I think what the
actual fuck I am older
than him
and the hills

so I straddle his lap
to have words face on
about how
he might like to find
a little girl

about how
I am
a real woman
and he whispers
say it

so I hear myself say it
and he whispers
you can do better than that

with a hiss on the ess
which makes me feel
deep inside my fingertips
so I say it

in soft anger
into his ear
as he grabs at tiny hairs
at the nape
and I say it say it say it say it


Laura McKee lives in Kent and began writing poetry by mistake, a few years ago. Her poems have appeared in print journals, as well as online, including Aireings, Other Poetry, Obsessed With Pipework, Prole, Ink Sweat & Tears, The Lake, The Journal, Morphrog, Lunar Poetry. Contact her on Twitter @Estlinin.

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