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