October 2007

Maybe one day I'll quit my dead-end job
and start working for the Union, real changes
being made, each and every day;
flawless asylum from folding and folding
and folding, wearing low-cut tops
leaving my fingerprints on society instead of
dusting glass store front windows
(on display in my low-cut top - sir, now what
are we really selling?).
Maybe it won't snow this winter
and I'll come home from my Union gig each night
to you spread-eagle in my four-post bed
a copy of Prufrock resting over your heart
as you sleep in grateful anticipation, because
this is what we've wanted all along.