You know the type.
The ones who look into a woman’s
kaleidoscope eyes and see only
a pleasure piñata
brimming with yeses
ready to blow on command.
The type who call all women baby,
who hurl their arms like invading soldiers
over female terrain and domain,
hooks over shoulders, hands hovering
just above breasts like drones
zeroing in on a target.
The type who like their women
one-size-fits-all; who see women
as objects of rejection/projection/protection,
our bodies public spaces
rather than sacred ones.
We are animated Rorschach tests
asserting the decency of the soul.
Amy Friedman teaches English at Harper College and earned her MA in Comparative Literature from Northwestern University. She is a regular contributor to Newcity, and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in *82 Review, Melancholy Hyperbole, Fractal, Extract(s), Crack the Spine, Referential Magazine, Rougarou, Black Fox Literary Magazine and elsewhere.