Thursday, 28 September 2017

A poem by Olivia J. Young

Jail Bait


I’m not, actually, none of us are. But some of us look like it, but not me. But they, the customers will say it about the girls whose thighs have the pipe cleaner silhouette of late-middle school-youth. Their bodies are long, and narrow, and they drop from the pole to the stage like wind-sliced power lines. Their hips are as high, and unspread as the pitch of their voices. We talk about it in the dressing room. How during lap dances, the men lean in close and say, you look just like my niece.













Olivia J. Young was born and raised in Rochester, New York, where she studies psychology, sociology, and English at SUNY Brockport. She loves animals and is convinced that she has too many jobs, and not enough cats. Olivia writes short fiction and poetry in addition to painting, and whatever else she can get into, including experimenting with Bizarro fiction. She has kept her writing to herself for most of her life, but her poetry did appear in the most recent issue of Jigsaw Literary Magazine. She lives with her dog, Mittens, her cat, Pepper, and her boyfriend, Matt in Rochester.

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