Sometimes it bruises.
And sometimes it doesn’t.
Barbosa liked the taste of her.
Especially her ears
and the side of her neck.
And he knew she liked the taste of him,
even sweaty after the sun got through with them.
Covering her with hickies,
not from malice but excitement.
Wanting to eat her up from top to bottom.
The German beach club owner warned her,
“Be careful of that young man.”
Father was a wanted man.
Changed names and places so often she forgot which were hers.
At fourteen, she’d been living on the street for a year.
Not speaking to a soul.
A voice told her to go get a job.
Everyone there thought her small for her age.
Turned out, Vilma was just eleven.
What child really likes living on the run?
Sure, it was non-stop action and there were times when they had fun,
but they could never build friendships or a foundation.
Developing rather dubious skills.
Especially when dear old Dad is running his game.
Barbosa wanted to do something and decided bowling was the thing.
Picking up the thread of the comment that the kids didn’t really care and they liked living on the run. That’s Barbosa’s craziness.
It wasn’t all root beer floats and cotton candy.
Born in a country he never knew.
To a father he never saw.
Given a name that wasn’t his.
Of course Barbosa never felt like he belonged.
Everywhere he went he was a visitor.
Married once, but never again,
the children didn’t really care.
Liked living on the run.
His crimes were just accidental opportunities.
Barbosa has nothing to lose and he behaves accordingly.
In this piece, I’m experimenting with a more abstract image.
Taken with a older technology digital camera.