2 Poems by
Vicki Hudspith
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Prom Geisha
He liked to eat and gave me
An omelet pan
Which he decreed more romantic
Than what I gave him; a shell shaped brass box
I saw his point immediately
I wasn't romantic
Romance was knowing how far you could fall
He said his gift was more romantic
And I agreed
A week later he broke up with me
You don¹t really want to screw me, he said
I protested but wondered how he knew
I actually can't remember screwing him at all
But I guess I did because that¹s why we broke up
At a party he pointed at a beautiful girl
And said he had dated her and she was a call girl
She had hard eyes
But she must have been a pretty good lay
Being a professional and all
Maybe one could aspire to be a great lay
So men would cry when they had to break up
Saying goodbye to the best blow job of their lives
Instead of being schooled in the old way:
PROM GEISHA
Tight shoes, pointy bras and pantyhose
It was enough to make you wonder why
Their perfect dicks were so thoroughly useless
These days girls know
Just like they know that layers of beautiful petticoats
Stick to your legs on hot days
And leave them to twirl
In the windows of thrift stores
Magnetism Below The Equator
This was
But below
In dry heat
The flame
Of dark rock
Granulated
To foot lift
Below
The gravity situation
But gently
And at some altitude
Say five or six feet
Breathing
If not looking
The implicit dreams of shells
Or uninhabited cowrie life
Abandoned by
The thickness of
Found situation
Again pushes
The obligation of current
And land formations
The obligation of those
That call themselves friends
And call to you at midnight
For navigation advice
From their photo albums
A buried treasure of the living
Continually reaching for
Conclusion rock
Variegated brainy fossilized
A national characteristic
Of pinkish skin and fast food
The entrenched equator
Where turtles zoom in greeny elegance
And starfish squat red and pompous
Upon the sea floor
Unconcerned by being glued to rock
In a corner of civilization
The pillar of
The pillowed rocking motion of
Would travel my dreams
Releasing in me the sleep of turtles
A metabolism of oxygen
Falling bubbles
Below the equator
In a random scattering of discarded living
My afternoons are spent gathering
What I have ignored
The membranes which let me forget
A cappuccino life
What I cannot forget I carry with me
In a thousand sandwich sized ziploc baggies
Stashed beneath the clouds
Calamity I do not yet know
Will rise before me
And exit
Dashed by lack of strategy
As if there could be
A moment at the captain¹s wheel!
As if the world were not tidal
Or mostly fluid
But sinister is the day
And more so the night
There is electricity in the order of choices
And this, after all, is a life
With the spirit of afternoon
Carried into another of your orbits
One more time
To convict me
Of sending the moon away
So the sun will indict me
That once I was full of magnetism
Attracted and attached to this and that
But never staying
In the sonorous zone
The solar plexus of the equator
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