Amy’s brother, bigger, heavier
and the first-born to boot,
warns her not to tell

The priest who lunches with Jean’s parents
(in their eyes he can do no ill)
calls it their little secret

The football hero
on whom the team and school rely,
he of the quick hands, the strong arms

no she said

The drill sergeant in boot camp
Sir yes sir
no blowing the whistle on him

no no

The professor who holds her grade
in his hands (her breast as well)

The boss at the job Mary needs
when her back’s against the wall

Her husband with his foot on her neck,
his hands wherever, whenever he pleases

Old or young a man with his hand on her bum
or worse, willfully deaf, even though

no she said no I won’t No

Phyllis Wax writes in Milwaukee on a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan. A Pushcart Prize nominee, her poetry has appeared in Ars Medica, Naugatuck River Review, Verse Wisconsin, Rose Red Review and The New Verse News, as well as many other journals and anthologies, print and online. Reach her at poetwax38@gmail.com.