The Friend


THE FRIEND Marge Piercy
We sat across the table. he said, cut off your hands. They are always poking at things. They might touch me. I said yes. Food grew cold on the table. he said, burn your body. It is not clean and smells like sex. It rubs my mind sore. I said yes. I love you, I said. That's very nice, he said I like to be loved, that makes me happy. Have you cut off your hands yet?

THE FRIEND
Marge Piercy

We sat across the table.
he said, cut off your hands.
They are always poking at things.
They might touch me.
I said yes.

Food grew cold on the table.
he said, burn your body.
It is not clean and smells like sex.
It rubs my mind sore.
I said yes.

I love you, I said.
That's very nice, he said
I like to be loved,
that makes me happy.
Have you cut off your hands yet?

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