I buy my own groceries,
fix my own meals, wash
my dirty dishes: what more
could a woman want?
She might want a stiff erection,
that’s what: something I last had
back at the turn of the century.
She might want a man to give her a baby:
something I did in 1980.
House shakes; hill burns;
sea rises up to my doorstep.
I am unconcerned. Amazon
delivers overnight—ain’t it grand?
(Here’s what money buys: DVDs.
Unsweetened soda. Condoms
I no longer use.)
When synapses fail to connect,
no pain is felt.
When friends die left and right,
it previews coming attractions.
Outside, frost has formed.
Snow begins to fall. Surfing
conditions are excellent.
You hire the hall,
ad in the paper—
audience appears,
you do it. Then what?
Then back to your room
for more sleeping and writing:
more checking the fridge
for juice.
