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Dec. 4, 2011
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I met them by the silo outside
Joy Prairie. They’d called the mall

pay phone until someone picked
up. I always picked up. I was Orange

Julius forever then I was blackest
coffee. I brought them saltwater taffy

to chew on while they looked
me over. They palmed their smokes

with a practiced hand. I asked
for consent and I shucked down

my dress and after their
applause I let them see

my State Fair heart. We went
to the hot dog parking lot. They

taught me to drive their Toyotas.
They were my first time. There were

others later. Other tablecloths on
tables. Another radio. Men who

would dive down through grain
to retrieve things I’d thrown

in. Who wanted a Midwest map.
Asked what did they do to you

back then I always said

Brittany Cavallaro's poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Gettysburg Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, Best New Poets 2011 and elsewhere. She was a finalist for the 2011 Ruth Lilly Fellowship and is currently a PhD candidate at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee.


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