Me & my blonde luck-charm friends
are in the bathroom of the Ritz Carlton,
rearranging our tits. I am jealous
that they look so good & shapely
(like women) when I have turned into
a slightly pungent cheeseball.
Yet these angelic buddies of mine
assure me that I have not been dead long enough.
‘When you are dead’, they say, ‘you never eat.
You’ll soon learn that food means nothing
& that sex (especially now) cannot be felt.’
They know I have been worry about seeing my parents,
The headlines of my body being hacked,
a gruesome sight to remember the dismembering
when all along I had been fighting
the void of any communion with a man
as if a disease.
But let me tell you, as we sit at the table,
Mother & Father both give me a kiss
& ask me to introduce my friends
(who had also been headlined) .
How young & pretty we all look
as if each of us were their daughters.