LETTER TO SAMMY

You’d be so proud of me now,
in a bra, black lace over swaying
white flesh, in one hand a mop
in the other red wine
on two hours sleep and an empty stomach
polishing the floor and the toilet
(remarkable females wear lace and
drink blood)
my third hand typing an email to the man of the moment
(suitable females conduct romances only with men who are feminists)
if you could see me, now you’d be proud of me

I chilled two cabernet sauvignons, a good vintage,
with my fourth hand I shampooed my hair
and shaved below in the shape of a moustache,
with my fifth hand and a plastic glove I searched for my daughter’s hamster
that decided to drop dead under the fridge
and with my sixth hand polished the aquarium with the fish
that promptly fell from my twitching seventh hand
staring at me coldly
sliced with a cruel shard of glass

oh, if only you could see me now,
you would say, what a remarkable female

LETTER TO SAMMY