Monday, March 01, 2004


come to the college, do the obligatory
class visit to the poetry workshop.

"Are you guys married?" asks the poetry
major. The visiting male poet turns

to the visiting female poet as if she
were the one who had his balls

in a velvet vice and could put
the right check mark

in that stupid little box. "No,"
she says, "we're, living in sin."

The male visiting poet slides
his hands over his tawny

courduroy pants, thinks,
"I could let a line break escape

from my ass right now,
but she's gonna nag me

about that later on." They get
through the class visit

without incidence, only a slight
foreshadowing of what's to come

during their featured reading.
The female visiting poet reads

first and reads for 40 long minutes,
and her boyfriend/lover/sinner-man

looks lovingly back at her
as if his life depended upon her

every word. What he's really
thinking is if she'll let him take

her doggy-style later tonight
in the hotel room, let him

spank the like and as
of each cheek as he approaches

his well-deserved epiphany,
his red caesura.