Arsenic Lobster poetry journal        Issue Six   2004
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REPORTING THE KILLED GIRL
Jean Esteve

She must of
about seven-thirty she must of
because at ten after seven she’s still on the phone.
She must of hung up then and gone out the door
the one through the kitchen and I never hear it open or close.

She must of gone down these steps
careful because they are dark the bulb was burnt out.
She must of gone down these steps in the snow.

She’d go between those two houses there
she’d take that way it’s quicker
she’d go down the path because the cold what I mean
                                                    in spring it’s all mud.

In spring she’d of taken the sidewalk and crossed Hudson
                                                    under the streetlight.
One more month we’ll have spring.
She could of just waited a month. She’s only thirteen.

There’s where she’d turn left and down Sixty-Second
and probably headed to Robert’s her boyfriend.
She called him her boyfriend but he’s just too old. He’s a punk.
She probably. God she was so. God she was so pissed off.

Here’s where they found her here in this old vacant lot.
It’s where she plays two-square for Godsake her skirt was up
                                                    over her head.
Here’s where they found her if only I hadn’t got mad.
Her skirt was up over her head. If she’d only of waited till spring.

About Jean Esteve

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