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Free This Bed

by Melissa Carroll

  • 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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