WENDY RAINEY

Dora

She tried a threesome in the seventies.
Went to a barbecue in Encino,
hair up-to-there,
wearing only a sparkler
in her butt.
Oh, she could swing, honey,
lying in front of the fireplace,
her ankles behind her ears.

But Dora is losing it.
She can’t remember what year it is.
She forgets to put her teeth in.
She took a walk around the block
without her pants today.

Dora sees her dead husband
doing The Hustle by the pool.
His bellbottomed ass,
gyrating,
his platform shoes
kicking in the air.
She cranks up Le Freak.
They’re snorting coke
off a blow-up doll’s ass
when she sees her father
unbuckle his belt,
Come here, Kitten.

Dora bounces off the diving board,
jumping higher and higher
into the sky,
her see-thru nightie
blowing over her head.
She looks up at the blinding sun.
For a moment
she sees her hand shaking,
the knife,
her father backing away,
his eyes,
the shock.

She hits the water with a splash,
her wig flying off her head.
She’s all giggles,
bubbles,
and everything fancy.

Wendy Rainey is author of Hollywood Church: Short Stories and Poems and Girl on the Highway. She is a 2022 recipient of the Annie Menebroker Poetry Award and a runner-up in the 2022 Angela Consolo Mankiewicz Poetry Prize. She studied poetry with Jack Grapes and creative writing with Gerald Locklin.