Home » All Issues » September 2010 » Free This Bed
- Free this bed of broken coils
- and window locks and garter chains,
- let all my seasons blow through silvered curtains
- and move the mattress to the lawn. I am ready for
- the dry spell, sucking
- lovers through the keyhole down the street to
- the pub’s gates, over the cement railing to the gulf.
- The men, all shapes and sizes, will bob and drown
- like sturdy anchors, down to the sandy gulf-bed,
- algae vining up wet, warped pant legs. Their sweet bubble talk
- will reach the cold water’s surface
- forever, tickling pelican’s
- slow circling feet.
- How lucky to live near the gulf, milky winter water
- turning rhinestone in summer, day-glow autumn
- waves, short lived spring tides. Home. Funny, the less
- love you have the less you want any. Some wishing well
- of affection plunged down, now lifted out in a big red bucket,
- levied by a strong maiden’s calloused hands, heaving rung
- by heavy naked rung.
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