Life is made up of expenses, expensive
spalshes of ectoplash,
of organism and experts in expensive tickets to fancy evenings
in which you wear just white satin gloves.
of orgasm after orgasm, of dream after dream that invokes
a woman's life after dinner, after the husbands and dishes
have been put away, and you browse through the family album,
as you brood about the afterlife of husbands and dishes,
dishes and husbands whose names you can't pronounce,
like Adolphus and Principus and Heathcliff.
After the dishes and husbands have been put away and you
still tawny in the nipples run out on the beach, eager
to see and be seen, sun and shells browse through your flesh.
and you're ready for show time, as you bake strange stories
of the white girl shuffle and the strange swim with the swans.
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Dorothy Friedman August, a widely published award winning
poet, editor and teacher, has published two books, The Liberty Years
and Family Album. She's won two New York Foundation
of the Arts fellowships and co-founded and edited The Helen
Review and Downtown Poets. Currently she's working on two
collections of poems, Drinking Alaska and
L Shaped Room and teaching at JohnJayCollege of
Criminal Justice and St. John'sUniversity.
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