your eyes are shrewd investments
deep sapphire pools unlined
there’s no mark on you,
no tuck, no hysterectomy
even your bosom stands erect
some lesbians haven't use for function
missed periods herald no event
while you, femininely intact
count each egg
sweet money in the bank
Billy Bob's Fear of Furniture
Not any furniture, mind you,
just antique
the stuff at Grammy’s house
where Uncle Bubba’s second cousin,
twice removed,
did something funny under the canopy
(inherited from Memaw on Daddy’s side)
where amid musty smells
of hooked rugs and mothballs
doily-decked chifforobe
flower-etched armoire
with no closet to hide in
mahogany became monster
allied with pine and walnut
an unimaginable amalgam
of RC and Moon Pie
madding talent and celluloid chic
