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For reasons unbeknownst,
I dream about introducing you to my parents.
Perhaps it’s because I know you already have planned just what you’ll say;
You know just how to impress them,
The blubbering graciousness and the handshakes and all.
Yet in every one of my imaginings, you blunder.
You goof up and bungle your words,
And now my dad’s halfway to the garage for his gun,
At the guard to rescue his little princess,
Because unlike you, he can’t work things out with words.
He can’t imagine you as more than
A sex-crazed, hormone ridden, going-no-where-fast teenage boy.
As if I could be in danger in the arms where I feel most safe.
He never makes it back, never loads it.
I always wake up.