And yet I’ve lived like this for years.
All since he quit me—caught the moon as round as aspirin
While, across the hall, the heartfelt murmurs
Of the queers … I see my punishment revolving in its den:
Around. Around. There should have been
A lesson somewhere. In Geneva, the ferocious local whore
Lay peeled for absolution with a tricot membrane
Sticking to her skin. I don’t remember
How it happened that I saw. The place was filthy. She would sit
And pick her feet until they knocked. Like Customs. She’d just wait.