Classic Poem

It's true: she's kneeling
on all fours, ass
thrust toward me, back
slung like a hammock,
black pumps facing me down
like twin sea horses
of the apocalypse —

but the real sin
is that this slurping sound
is just me and my Darjeeling
as she finishes jacking
her laptop in.











From Poetry Magazine, July 2006. Used with permission.