Calling this poem a nightmare is an attempt to distance myself from the dark sexuality of the poem. What is nightmarish about the scenario is precisely the nonchalance of the narratorial voice. This is brute sexual-whatever trivialized by placing it on a list of things to do today.
I would rather than anything
go to Drinky’s and rape a drunk
strumpet in the bathroom.
Her tears steam the mirror,
which receives the grease of her face
And then afterwards I deliberate,
about what toppings I want
on my $4.00 Make-it-Yourself-Quesadilla.