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Driving through the twilight
A full moon shadow over brow
He tells me of the time on ecstasy
When He withered in sexual perversions
The car and conversation move on
My legs tensed as though
It were my reactions that might save us
From an accident and death.
Then I thanked him for the lift
Most decent of him and shook his hand goodbye
To walk back down the garden steps
To my quiet little den to think,
What sexual perversions?
The thought passed long before
I cowered into myself
To sleep alone
Undreaming and unloved.
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Last edited by JiminyC on Sun Mar 04, 2007 9:35 am, edited 1 time in total.
I've always wondered about the ways that men go about seducing hitchhikers. Of course, he wanted you to go beyond wondering and ask, so that he might tell and, perhaps, even show. Or, perhaps, in this context, the label of perversions didn't go beyond a male-to-male interlude with you. Your questioning thoughts were a bit late for his purposes. This could have been a dangerous situation for you... and there wasn't any love there. It sounds better that you slept alone that night.
~ Lizzy
~ Lizzy
Thank you for your concern Lizzy, but rest assured I can take care of myself (or at least I don't hitchhike). I hoped this piece was ambivalent and open to many interpretations, and from your response I can gather that it is. For me the driver was making a confession, not a proposition.
Anywho, hope you are well. x
Anywho, hope you are well. x
Okay. You were there. If this was an accurate description of events, then we'll just always view it differently.
In the days when I hitchhiked, when the driver made a sexual reference, I got out at the next corner. Immediately upon stopping. It happened once.
In those days, the presumptions made about women who hitchhike weren't the same as they, seemingly often here in the U.S., are now... however, sometimes they still were. Not sure exactly what he thought or what his thoughts were, but I wasn't going to stick around to find out. It was already dark and in a more isolated, downtown area when I got out... but I still felt safer outside that car than I did in it. Your writing resonated with me in the same way as the attempted conversation that night.
I could be wrong. Why he would choose to 'confess' to you, a hitchhiker at night, is another matter... one I won't explore, given your response.
It's been a long time since I've hitched. Times have significantly changed in many ways, including that. Now, they'd be as likely to think I'd harm them
.
Be safe,
Lizzy
In the days when I hitchhiked, when the driver made a sexual reference, I got out at the next corner. Immediately upon stopping. It happened once.
In those days, the presumptions made about women who hitchhike weren't the same as they, seemingly often here in the U.S., are now... however, sometimes they still were. Not sure exactly what he thought or what his thoughts were, but I wasn't going to stick around to find out. It was already dark and in a more isolated, downtown area when I got out... but I still felt safer outside that car than I did in it. Your writing resonated with me in the same way as the attempted conversation that night.
I could be wrong. Why he would choose to 'confess' to you, a hitchhiker at night, is another matter... one I won't explore, given your response.
It's been a long time since I've hitched. Times have significantly changed in many ways, including that. Now, they'd be as likely to think I'd harm them
.Be safe,
Lizzy
Ambiguous, open to interpretation, relative; I wasn't there anymore than you were there Lizzy. Since reading your two posts I've considered redefining this piece but after some consideration am a lot happier to see how it can be defined personally by the reader.
I do write confessional poetry and have on this site, this is a fictitious piece though contemplating: relationships, what constitutes sexual perversion, communication and isolation. The narrator knew the driver, although there is no reference to this, that was my vision. The confession is defined by the word withered, the narrators response to openness is to become tense, Lizzy you've illustrated well why on one possible level.
I like that you assumed the narrator was hitchhiking, as it supports the idea of his isolation, and agree that girls are much scarier than boys these days.
I do write confessional poetry and have on this site, this is a fictitious piece though contemplating: relationships, what constitutes sexual perversion, communication and isolation. The narrator knew the driver, although there is no reference to this, that was my vision. The confession is defined by the word withered, the narrators response to openness is to become tense, Lizzy you've illustrated well why on one possible level.
I like that you assumed the narrator was hitchhiking, as it supports the idea of his isolation, and agree that girls are much scarier than boys these days.
It worked out well all round, then 
.
The formality of your goodbye and, even though it's kind when a friend or acquaintance gives a ride, your making the point that it was most decent of him to do it, gave me the impression that you didn't know this person.
I'm guessing that you mean your legs were taut, right? I won't bother mentioning that known people also seduce
. We'll let the idea of all that go; yet, you didn't really seem to explore much the themes you've cited. Ah, well. Another day. Another poem.
I've just returned from the general area where Eileen Wuornos, the sexual-serial killer, a prostitute, who worked along Florida highways was finally arrested. You're right that it's become as scarey with regard to women, as it's been with men.
~ Lizzy
.You didn't explore these in your poem, however, other than to make the point that you wondered what they might have been.. . . contemplating: relationships, what constitutes sexual perversion
The formality of your goodbye and, even though it's kind when a friend or acquaintance gives a ride, your making the point that it was most decent of him to do it, gave me the impression that you didn't know this person.
I'm guessing that you mean your legs were taut, right? I won't bother mentioning that known people also seduce
. We'll let the idea of all that go; yet, you didn't really seem to explore much the themes you've cited. Ah, well. Another day. Another poem. I've just returned from the general area where Eileen Wuornos, the sexual-serial killer, a prostitute, who worked along Florida highways was finally arrested. You're right that it's become as scarey with regard to women, as it's been with men.
~ Lizzy
But will change it to tensed.