Public Republic

Charlotte Pence

Photo: _boby + boby

Babe, next time
Don’t schlep a heifer
Up to the stars
To hide her.

Do it
In our house
On our kitchen counter
Where I stir
The cream into your coffee.

Do it
In my easy chair,
Her facing you,
Her bare butt,
Piglet-pink,
Reflecting in the coffee-table glass.

Do it
How I like it done
On our dining table:
Laid down on my back.
Arms spread in “V”s, like wings,
As the body comes undone—
Like Sunday turkey
Carved all wrong.

Do it
In the family room,
TV down low, Dr. Phil
Stirring up his straight talk,
Platitudes on how
Love is a verb
As you verb all about
Her delicious nouns.

But you don’t want that.
Feels wrong
As if you’re no better
Than an animal.
Besides, you don’t want
Her for the every day,
For the every night,
Which reminds me:

Do it
In our bed
In that jackrabbit-humping
Motion you love.
Do it
On our sheets,
So when we lay down
To sleep,
The scent of her body
On your pillow….
You won’t know
If you’re either
Here or there.
Her or hare.