The Performance

She wanted to but could not;
hest hot with words
Mouth even opened so
Each bee could charge forth

She assailed to the pillow
Softness breaking into
The even-softer

         — And I realize she hasn’t changed

Even in the face of all this she hasn’t changed
Enough to express a dislike for Chinese food
Or anger at being always asked
For more and

            Better and

            Longer and

            Thinner and

            Smarter and

            Richer and


She feels you insisting she wake
And produce for you
Something she wants for only herself

You’ll take all your privilege
She, without protection
Only distance

And you wake her between nightmares
As if you’re about to take care of a child
But all you want is whatever she has
Left to give:
Some last drops of milk from the breasts

You’ve come to the Female trough
She has none but Medusas

You would always unsettle the slumber
To satiate desire for any body
Even hers, the hated
And hate on it

She said “performative”
And you so enjoy an independent woman
Who can deal with her shit on her own time
You’ve just won her crushed chrysanthemums

Ten Years and you don’t
even know she is bruised at all
Except when she is drunk and wears red lipstick
For the performance

All you men
And your daydreams of the female wellspring

So resplendent




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