"FACINGFACES 2002 - 04" SELECTED POETRY

AN EVENING BY THE THAMES


I don't need to smack that grin off.
Your hand's down your pants again,
slutting through the city,
reaching for my skin.
Hand's working your crotch and
the river's cool and oiled.
You leer over the railing.
It's evening, and you're done
at the office, Italian suit
all oiled and sticking to skin.
You sniff my legs, imagine me nude
pointed, prickled, heel flat
sticking to your crotch
as if I glued it there myself.
Pricked, your pants pointed
in flesh thinking

my hips, my breasts, my skin
glued to bones have lured
your hands to bulge
and have made your flesh unpretty,
boned and bound. You are
stuck and grinning, and I am free
and pretty used to your kind,
slinking through the city--slut.

Shanti Weiland
USA
copyright 2002