Girls Who Will Never Marry

stare as he slammed the kitchen door and stalked out to his truck. He didn't understand what had just happened. He didn't know why his wife had gone crazy, or how come his brother-in-law and sister had taken her side. He didn't have a clue when his wife was coming home. But he did know he wanted a beer, so he turned back onto 25 and headed north. Maybe he'd call Sherry when he got home, maybe not. She was to blame for a lot of this, he knew. But he was to blame for her, so it all went around in a circle, and there didn't seem to be an easy solution to the mess back at his sister's house. Bob felt around for his car phone, thinking that if it wasn't in the truck, it was a sign from God to stop seeing Sherry. But the phone was there, and by the time he was halfway across the county, he was dialing her number. Girls Who Will Never Marry We howl. Dance snaky. Faces red under a pumpkin moon Our arms fly, release Milkweed threads into alfalfa-scented air. Possum play possum under loblolly pines Cicadas have long shut-up We are choke cherry starved for love Below a sky wired with stars. Barn doors are never locked and we Want to lay with boys Who smell like quarter horses, feel Hands and knees wedge our thighs apart. Fingertips still stinking of saddlesoap Will find a way to make us scream Tempt us with a sweet deal Make us sing songs of invented sin. Come morning, our hair spiky with hay, We hear the devil-tap of hooves Watch the boys fade away, vanish, merge Into an otherwise slow wooing of life. —Deborah Byrne 54 ...