Before And After Sex Poem by gershon hepner

What you’re wearing after sex tells me
much more than what you wear before it.
The miniskirt before that lets me see
far up your legs is perfect, I adore it,
but what you wear right after tells me how
you feel the world should see you after sex,
so satisfied, perhaps, no need to wow
all other men and me, and can relax
in clothes that are more comfortable, or still
as sharp and as provocative as when
you’d not removed what gave me such a thrill,
and want to catch the eyes of all strange men
as well as me. I’m waiting in a queue,
to see your line when we make love and figure
if you plan changes, or a déjà vu
that leads to Mr. Big or Mr. Bigger.

Ruth Pennebaker writes in the NYT Weekend in Review (June 1,2008) about she joined four women, all breast cancer survivors, from Austin to see a preview of “Sex and The City”:
We were also there because we wanted to see the clothes. The stilettos, the gossamer dresses, the floral splashes, the tight jackets, the outré hats, the clutch purses, the hair, the makeup, the dazzling jewelry. If half of “Sex and the City” is about sex, the other half is about what you’re wearing before and after you have sex and when you’re walking around the streets, heartbroken, certain you’ll never have sex again. Men come and men go, they die, they disappoint, they’re unavailable, they’re too available. But at least you’ve still got your three female sidekicks and a killer wardrobe to remind you life is worth living. So the five of us joined a raucous audience of women and a few patient, saintly men, drinking stiff Cosmopolitans and catching up on one another’s lives after months and years of not being together. On the big screen, weddings were canceled and relationships sputtered and seasons blossomed and died and blossomed again, as women teetered on impossible shoes and even more impossible assumptions about love and perfect futures. Out in the audience, before and after, we swapped stories about lives that weren’t quite as Technicolor or cinematic — an adopted daughter going to grade school; children graduating from college; a new house; a mother who’d moved closer; friends who hadn’t lived to grow old with us; our own impossible assumptions about life….Sure, maybe the movie was too long and overwrought, but it had a warm female heart to it. Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha were always showing up to save one another from a lonely New Year’s Eve or a botched honeymoon or a shattering disappointment, always bringing comfort and filling in for whatever’s lacking, making up for cads who leave and forget. In our small group of friends, Betsy had to bring the cleavage to the premiere of “Sex and the City.” Our job, for years to come, will be to remind her of her offer and never let her live it down. Because good women friends, on screen and off, never forget. Wrong city, wrong demographics, wrong shoes, but — what the hell — right attitude.


6/1/08