I was twelve when it passed, keeping
a dime in my sock just in case
I was stranded and needed a payphone.
My first period was yet to come. Still,
I was afraid of swimming pool sperm.
The story of the Immaculate Conception
freaked me out, even though
I professed I didn’t believe it
and soon I would refuse
to make my Confirmation. Soon, too,
a girl in the hall with her basketball
belly. I shunned her, as though
she was contagious. A jock
spraypainted in red about another girl—
“Roxanne had an abortion”
and I thought, good for her.
