The German Hitchhiker

The German hitchhiker hovered five inches above the sand,
His blond hair glowing in the mid-afternoon Shirazi sun,
Ponytail slung insolently over one shoulder,
Jeans tight and torn,
Dusty backpack at his sandaled feet.

I was 16 with an empty apartment,
Away from the dig for the weekend,
A handful of speed in my pocket,
Horny and bored,
Riding in a taxi.

I picked him up on the edge of town,
Lying that the other roads out were closed,
But that he could stay with me for the night,
Lying like you do when you are 16,
And a girl who wants to fuck,
A girl who wants to fuck, now.

I took him out to dinner,
It was hard to talk;
He spoke German, and I English,
\With only slang in common,
We ate at a low-lit restaurant with Western food,
Chateaubriand and crème caramel,
Dexedrine for a digestif,
I told him they were vitamins,
He was naïve – I wasn’t.

Walking back to the apartment,
The moon hanging low and shining,
The smell of jasmine floating over the compound walls,
Chattering and getting off on the speed,
Up the concrete steps and home.

We fucked on the narrow balcony,
Potted geraniums toppling to the yard below,
He didn’t figure out why he couldn’t come,
I told him it might have been the heavy meal,
Shifted under him, and knocked over another plant.

He and I stayed up all night fucking,
Until the sun rose all hot and thin,
We were tired — washed out,
That peculiar drugged feeling coating our mouths,
Ready to crash,
9 am — I took him to the edge of town in a cab,
Dropped him off, and wished him luck,
Came back to the apartment — slept.

About Avery Cassell

Avery Cassell is a queer butch San Francisco writer, poet, cartoonist, and artist who grew up in Iran.
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