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Posts Tagged ‘manhood’

It was never a question of existence
I had seen it, it had seen me,
but could I ever posses it?

On the table an unblinking
half of grapefruit looked
like a New England February day
off from school – the decaying slopes
having been deemed too
slippery to drive.
Such weather my father adored
to test in a 2 ton all-steel American
built sled with “Dodge” embossed
on the front. I still associate
bench seats with thrilling
force and the smell of cigars
with men.

His breakfast, like that old royal Dodge,
was a Frankenstein’s monster of reanimated
scraps of other meals slapped into
the body of a bagel to achieve the look
the texture
the feel
Of something, God knows what, that pleased him.

This was for him – running yokes making fingers greasy
and a hot coffee.
It would remain wholly unconnected to the rest of his acts
as a gift bestowed upon him by an ignorance untested.

His morning shower is my crisp clean moment
to delicately crack the surface.

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Your hands press overlapping
crop circles into my knotted back,
the same high pressure system
that swirled a storm on dirty dishes
and cleared condensation
off the glass shower door to
reveal your face amidst steam.

We whisper though the house
is empty and too large.
You waited for me to come home
for this, to rub my back
and talk about vacation spots.
At work, my female colleagues
tell me of your servitude –
of a thing called woman
with a glass ceiling
and steamy condescension.

How did such a young woman,
such a modern woman,
get hoodwinked into loving to serve?
She has given it away you know,
this thing called womanhood.
For a man, for this man,
a young barely bearded man,
who needs her to dress him,
to feed him well,
to rub his back.

Did I make you into unwoman
by witnessing your dreams
unfulfilled? The lack of tiny feet
on the hard wood, even though
we cuss the dog out when he
relieves himself there. We would
love those tiny feet, kiss them
like a king, and serve them hand
over foot. To love such a thing,
such a tiny, tiny thing.

Then I could have an excuse for
a dead end job and you
would have a reason to stay at home
other than wanting to.
But instead you are unwoman and I am unman.
So after a relaxing back rub
we will enjoy sex with the lights on
then fall asleep in each other’s arms
while the dog watches through
the fat end of a white cone
like a little furry phonograph.

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