Emily Dickinson's Birthday Present Poem by David McLansky

Emily Dickinson's Birthday Present

Miss Dickinson, You are a pear
Prickly in my bed
You fight to hold the covers up
And hiss, 'We are not wed! '
Let me see at least one breast
And kiss its' purple grape
You stay my wrist with iron bands
And softly whisper, 'Rape! ';
This is not fair my prickly pear,
I want to see you nude!
You wrap the sheets and mummify
And tell me I am crude;
Have all your words and clever play
Been a scattering of seeds,
Oh I would plough your two locked legs,
Yet you won't do the deed.
With fiendish strength I guide your hand,
'Oh won't you hold my member? '
She pulls away and turns around,
'My birthday's in December.'