One of the poems I fell madly, wildly and desperately in love with is in the pages of one of the books I'm reading at the minee, "Women of the Beat Generation". So in love, I can't put it down.
I remember, when the moon shines clear
How I'd whisper in my husband's ear
Like a dentist saying "Open wider"
"Don't you want to be a good provider?"
"Don't you want to be the gracious host
In a lovely home of which you're proud to boast?
When my girl friends come to call
We've got to have carpeting from wall to wall."
After the carpeting he fought and bled
Trapped in the jaws of the Davenport bed!
He screamed as he vanished up the vacuum spout.
In triple-sealed bags it spat him out.
We chased his skull across the Twin Peaks stones.
Maud's pet Chihuahuas ate the rest of his bones.
Another gnawed ghost, another gone man,
Another mild husband in the garbage can
Served up colder than his marriage vows
On his bones let Chihuahuas browse.
Tell me this poem doesn't make your vulva lips twitch and your womb spontaneously combust with creative possibilities and promise.