Bodies curling in their beds as strumpets,
As their tits are curling
Upwards like Christmas ornaments, and listen to all the many
Stories that they have been telling:
Like I used to sit with my parents on Easter in the Gun Club
With the car salesmen and it was a beautiful America:
At least all the prettier women were beautiful,
And I and my sister could go and buy cat food and feet all the
Vagabond felines and not really have to think about it:
Now my sister and I both have beautiful houses,
And the ocean teals, and the sky pearls: Sharon, the sky really pearls,
And I wonder when the last time was you played with yourself
In the high weeds along Military Trail; or I doubt that you
Ever did,
And the terrapin misses you; and at least you haven’t had to see all
Of my new scars;
And I will sell fireworks and miss you: maybe I will climb in Colorado
Again just to look down your blouse or up your skirt;
But if you really need me, I will be there, like a super hero who is always
Drunk:
Now stop thinking of anything and just remember how beautiful you are:
How beautiful your daughter is, and that because of you the day can go on
Forever musing,
Trumpeting and petting the swans: and because of you man can go on
Forever selling all of his stuff;
And most importantly I don’t have to rhyme; and the housewives will
Always serve dinner and get their men to bed on time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem