New Poetry: “Espionage,” by Pete Gibbon

CW: sexual assault

Like anyone else, I spent time & energy imagining how 007 I could be.
Like anyone else, taught on reflex to look both ways before crossing
my street

but that’s where our shared experience ends. No daily business ends
of martini goggles for me. No living through exits—lucky for them if it

never happens; also guilty. Also, odds are good
it will happen again, so

memorize that hotkey. No inept guard. No

Paintball Mode. Nights, stacked with antagonists. Every human. Every are. Seems
badass
except with no agency at all. Not like how wrestling’s fake, either. More like

when it’s dark, we’re walking home together & I flip off a car of strangers being rude
she’s not impressed. That’s a grimace. That’s a grimace because

she’s an operative with no security. Raised a spy but treated as an eavesdropper.
More like her opposite of FIGHT isn’t FLIGHT. It’s raped.

these words by Pete Gibbon were inspired by
the art of Pasha Bumazhniy