More than one man has reached up my skirt

I’ve stopped asking: ¿Why? I’ve let a man whistle from the table for more beer, & brought it to him with a smile. I’ve slapped a man & ran while he laughed — atrevida. I’ve had a miscarriage. I’ve let a man kiss me after an abortion & comforted his hot tears. I’ve done these things, while other girls work in maquilas piecing together Dell computer boards, while other girls work in brothels, & cake foundation across their bruised arms, while other girls ride the bus home alone at night, every night, while other girls are found wearing clothes that don’t belong to them, or no clothes at all. I’ve done all of this while other girls are found with puta written in blood across their broken bellies. My mother used to cover my eyes when we’d walk by girls working the corner, & say: See how lucky you are, not to have to work like they do? I have been muy puta, have been called puta. Yes, I’d say,very lucky.