The Good  Stepmother

Peter Mladinic

I stopped for the red light at the intersection.

There weren’t any other cars.

When the Black man jumped into my Mazda

I managed to get out.  I dialed 911.

Please bring my babies home!

But the light wouldn’t have turned red

unless another car was on the intersecting

road.  That was their breakthrough.

There was no Black man, no carjacking.

Only me, at John D. Long Lake,

the Mazda sliding down the boat ramp,

water seeping in, water filling the Mazda

with my three year old Michael

and fourteen month old Alexander inside,

Michael’s fists at the window,

the water rising, the Mazda submerged.

The last thing I saw. Goodbye Mazda,

Goodbye children, David, my on-and-off

spouse, hello romance, the new life

I wanted with Tim, who didn’t want kids.

The Mazda sank into the lake.

I was free.  Behind bars, men want me.

They write to me, I to them.

So different from when, after high school,

I swallowed pills after a married man ended

our affair. 

I’ve had sex with male guards. Susan,

you’re the best, one whispered

before his cum shot inside me. Find my

G spot.  I’m in the visitors room

across from a man, and I’m moist, damp.

It takes no more than a whisper in my ear. 

A Black man took the car

and my babies, I just want them home.

I’d make a man a good wife,

and his children a loving stepmom.