by Diana Dinverno


she slid the knife into her backpack: It probably wouldn’t be missed,
they had so many, and it was small. She needed protection from the asshole
in chemistry who pinched her nipple when no one was looking,
who did worse than that, too; the guy who bragged about his grades,
insisted he liked beer.

She would have told, but she knew they wouldn’t believe her—
and even if they had, it wouldn’t matter.

Comments are closed.