The Black Mole

A black mole,

Residing underneath my unshaven armpit

Grows.

Every time I lift my arm,

I find it sinking into the cavity

Of absolute darkness

And it grows

Like Darwin's child.

Every day

As I lift my arm,

My nose smells the stench of my body,

While m long, skinny fingers,

With a cigarette in between the vertex,

Reach out like tweezers

To squeeze out the mole

And it grows.

Like a worm in an apple.

I consider it a part of me.

I think.

Protruding from my skin

Like a pregnant body,

Stomaching zillions of bacteria and microscopic whatevers,

And

It grows.

And when I lie in bed,

Men slide down my underwear

Lift up my shirt

As I lift my arms.

And there it sits

Like my chastity belt.

Men.

They promise to never lift my shirt again.

(c) Radhika Iyengar 2010