Bridget Lowe
What shall I do with my time.
It's the only bitch I've got
left. The lesbians who once loved
my form have all gone home
to husbands.
The sea, the sea. You mean
nothing to me. I never learned
to swim. The girls who did
are the ones who walk
upright on the way to their bank jobs.
I'll lie on this bed of pink roses,
dense as a stallion's corona.
I'll go under these green trees
and sleep, and sleep
at least until my hour is over.
I'll invoke the tri-headed dog
just for some warmth at the end
of the bed. Or arrange my childhood
coins in a row. The ones
brought back by my father.