madame carface ducharme

her name: carface ducharme
occupation: revving heartbreaker

in the trial, madame carface remains 
beautiful as ever, with a heart carved 
on the left side of her windshield, alongside
the sticker residues and scratches
her rapist made in an attempt to remove

all traces of her identity.

her father was in the crowd—

the mechanic who saw madame 
carface as a child, abandoned outside his car 
repair shop in a white blanket.

when he refused to put her in the junkyard,
his wife and children left him.

madame carface ducharme

a distinct revving—soothing as a gurgle in a dream—
accompanies her voice and the sound of her name,
each syllable a mixture of a hiss and a whisper—
the sexy passion of an automobile.


madame carface ducharme does not know 
her real parents, or who is the car and the 
human, but she doesn’t care.

madam carface tells the aggression with pinpoint
accuracy—his tracks leaving memories
of the event. she describes his honking down on her.

he’s one of the many hearts she

has broken. she repeats his words:

so let me see what kind of car you are.

the rapist shouts,  just look at her. she is
waiting to get violated.
  madame carface ducharme
simply brushes off the statement by flicking
her hair and dimming her headlights, for she is 
a madame, not an object. she is her own brand, her own
charm, and she loves her work.