by Barbara Schweitzer
At twenty-four she set off cross-country
and fired up her computer for world peace.
She set out with a burning talent, sultry
and sure, muscling, shouldering out her needs.
She shot up every third month, so she could hike
with the men, monthly overextended
her hormones to keep up with them, insight
of young women red-peppered, rendered
useless by reality. She expected
to come home, drop off the anti-menses,
pick up a woman’s life, her dress, unvexxed,
well-heeled, fall in love, get pregnant and seize
the day in the same way her brother could.
If they hadn’t kidnapped her, she surely would.
Barbara Schweitzer is a poet and playwright living in northern RI. Her work has won numerous prizes including a merit fellowship from RI's NEA allotment. Her first volume of poetry, 33 1/3 (Little Pear Press) will be released in spring 2006.
