Because rural roads have no lights. Because

rainstorms meant no one would follow. You parked

 

the car, turned toward me; as if menopause

ever cooled passion. I’d yet to be marked

 

with toff, hormones, my hex’d sex. Sleepovers

with your son’s chums left me all pearl-handled,

 

revolveress. Barking irons. Splatters

on your grip, your neck, your grin. Rains drizzled

 

on the bonnet while within you wiped from

your palm maelstrom. I said O and eased out

 

into ancient dark no one could follow.

You said, “Hmm?” Mishap: once I called you mom.

 

You laughed. Your gravestone calls you a devout

mother. Good. There’s no rain these days, just snow.

][][

Notes

Victorian slang has so many quaint concepts that never get the love that they deserve in this modern age. For example, a revolveress is a woman who, “uses a pistol with a great degree of surety.” (from, Passing English of the Victorian era, a dictionary of heterodox slang, 1885)