She bet her virginity on the horses,
On the rocks and in the
locks of your hair, the way you locked her
in your room after dark
you kept her there, kept her from leaving so
she’d keep you happy, and happy is
as it was, is, could be, will be
if she plays this one right-
with cards close and luck
singing her on her way. But she
signed her life away on the line
that the sun made when it hit your cold,
Three horses die on the third hedge of this race.
One takes her jockey with him, falling, rolling-
all bets off. Then as the other two snap, crack
like twigs underfoot, you and her explore
an infinite forest of uncertainties. I ask:
did you find what you were looking for,
What you weren’t meant to see-the secrets we keep?
Did you chase her away when you fixed the bets,
Rigged her virginity,
She’s not going to keep playing your game.
Alison is a 17 year old writer who lives in the South of England. There isn’t much to do there. Writing seemed like a good option. When she isn’t doing that she’s standing around in the kitchen at parties. Find more of her at readrum.tumblr.com.