Poem 227

A little wicked but I’m sure Vicki wouldn’t take offence …

( I like the baking/breaking fresh bread metaphor and the mystery of half-revealed statues jutting out of mountainsides … )

The Day Vicki Turned Dyke

all the dogs in town began to howl
it was mysterious weather secret shifting knots
of cloud
              statues poking out of
mountainsides
there was a bed
the hot thighs of a discovery
to bake her cheeks in
Vicki turned dyke
and felt better for it
whoever breaks her now the sweet steam
won't rise to you
the dogs howl the men howl
        Vicki wait!
but she's gone
into the light smiling
eating toast with marmalade