she has one of those tans
you can wipe off with your hands
that orange – pasty glow.

they tell her to stick a cock
in her mouth
just so she’ll shut up.

rolling over
to the other side of the bed—
reaching for her louis vuitton
and
bra;

the freshly soaked cum stain
on his old photo bleeds
neon in the daylight.

the walk of shame—
notoriously famed
the rumor slip ‘n’ slide

of the night before of
which she doesn’t even recall:
slipped drinks, a familiar face

we’ve been here
many times before.

s./j. goldner

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/id-transferred-guilt-or-grief/