THE NAMES

A private college run by a Prophet

you never trusted, but your daddy thought

would save you, man and school.  “Won’t let you quit.

You will make friends.”  So you rush Kappa, not

authorized on campus like Coke and sex.

No Greeks, they say, but eight surround you at

this mixer, one a blonde Adonis next

to photos, Apostles once in his frat.

He speaks the names and doesn’t blink. Sister

whispers, “He’s going on your card.” A pink

rectangle with the names of strangers, list

of “five you’ll please until they sign,” she winks.

Dad drove you days away, ignored your pleas;

you knew this place would bring you to your knees.

 

~~~

Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola. Her sonnets and other poetry have appeared in Infernal Ink, Anti-Heroin Chic, Mystic Blue Review, Quail Bell, Occulum, Fourth & Sycamore, Digging Through the Fat and many more publications.  Follow her on Twitter: @lolaandjolie .

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