Worried About My Skirt at Jean Women’s Camp

—rusty peach. The women,
dressed in white t-shirts and
blue track pants,
fondle large dogs
and back away from them,
crouching.

The mutts sit for the whistle
then bound toward the uniform line.
Their tails high flags
paws prancing
through the only strip of grass
into the row of open arms.

The guards speak through
the loudspeaker, announcing.

Worried about my skirt,
I push it down against the lifting wind.
Andre is ahead of me
I am not worried about him seeing my underwear.
Maybe the guards
will kick me out. My boy shorts are blue.

Priscilla is behind me
her tightly curled white hair unruffled,
red lipstick crisp.
She has seen much worse than my knickers.

The wind dies
the sky has gone crimson
the last light shines
gold on the razor wire.

Worried About My Skirt at Jean Woman's Camp Banner Image

Joan Robinson

Joan Robinson

Joan Paulette Robinson is a MFA graduate from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. Her poetry often focuses on places in the Mojave Desert, Las Vegas, or in rural central Michigan. Those places serve as catalysts for reflections on history and memory and the overlapping nature of experience.
Joan Robinson

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