Poem – Flashbacks 

All it takes is Laura Riding’s riding-
crop across my butt, and I’m off:

Git-up horsie she cries astride me as
I crash sweetly onto the carpet.

Boredom what an esthetic,

cleansing the days-

I laud the vintage of my toothpick.
Small-husband to the floor,

my foot stoops in dance,

in courtship intervals.
Putting their clothes on afterwards

the lovers are surprised

at how empty

the buttonholes seem.