Dolo Diaz
THE PINCH
Her mother would
drive us to school.
Squeezed in the
back seat of the
dark green mini,
she would pinch me
hard. She would
pinch and
twist.
I would not peep.
Decades later,
I see her when we
visit. She is a waitress
at this octopus restaurant.
There is a slight pinch
when she drops the menus.
I tip her extra hard.
I whisper to my kids,
while they sip their Fantas:
She used to hurt me
when I was your age.
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