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Sport 41: 2013
Her
Her
It’s like a film, the way it starts
with you and me at last alone
until into our pretty nest
your wife’s shrilling down the phone.
The way light changed from gold to blue
and how you sat and how I flew
from bed to door and back to you
until you laid me down and said
to hell with her my lovely one
to hell with us, with me to hell
(hell’s what a woman’s cunt was called
in Shakespeare’s day when things were called).
Stem to stem on earthy bed
we each unto the other said
(unto now there’s another word—
from Shakespeare’s? Chaucer’s? Anon’s head?)
unto unto fiord and cliff
albatross, gannet, gulls in throngs
our own cast out and jutting lands
our own rhyming and tragic songs.