- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Devil in Miss Jones
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Miss Jones is a home economics teacher
who hangs up her coat after work
as slowly as Mother gets out of bed
almost yellow as the canary.
Margaret recalls her once hot body
that could have been pierced one night in Miami
with one more Black Russian under her skin
while she waited for Daphne's HUNGRY HEART,
but BORN TO BE WILD stayed in the needle
blue because her soul was white
as yesterday's sheets on Mother's bed
she changed again at five pm
when Mother took the stairlift up
to fall asleep with the six o'clock news.
Ring! Ring! It's Raúl. Tweety sings
like a love bird in the parlor
where lights are dim, a beer's on ice,
and a glass is on top of a doily.
Her right shoulder voice is a friend tonight
with the devil perched on her left
until the dawn creeps through the blinds,
her Dos Equis Don Juan creeps through the door,
and she packs her briefcase with room enough
for the necktie she hid, her only sin.
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