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The Prosthetics Blues
Rocking chairs are at it again
drunk as lords, telling dirty jokes;
wheelchairs are off on promiscious rounds;
and walkers won't quit their tease.
Canes are into S & M, and even orthopedic shoes
are living on the wild side.
Some greyed-out cadavers
come along for the ride.
Stir Fry
"You don't know what you're
talking about," you said
patted my head with chopsticks
made your friends laugh.
You may as well have taken a razor
to my heart
shredded it like Yomana
attacking filet
at the Sushi Gardens;
may as well have laid it out
in pieces
quick fried it to-a-turn and
fed it to your friends.
The Perfect Man
He was a dowager's dream,
a manicured mannikin,
a
pulled-myself-up-by-bootstraps-
from-the-cesspool-of-ignorance
type of guy:
smooth as his perfect martinis,
his liquid stride on the dance floor,
his flaring nostriled palamino
in her bed,
perfect diction
rehearsed in a crazed mirror,
perfect body
transferred from sweat-drenched jobs,
perfect patsy
for the son who put a skewer
through her heart.
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