Reb Livingston's poetry and prose has appeared in 5AM, Drunken Boat and Lit. No longer appalled by the use of "fuck," Reb hopes a new word can someday fill its shoes. Visit her website.






On the Way

The boy sitting behind me
on this slow prison bus wants to fuck.
He thinks it might be
his last chance.
He's probably right and
I refuse on exactly
those grounds. You always

remember your first but there's
never any time to remember
your last. So you hope.
If I'm going to be dead within
72 hours,
I'm not going to jinx them

with last meals or words or
fucks. There's nothing special
about the sky or the planets.
My face has acquired no wisdom.
I am just a lovely girl
on her way to camp.