When, thrust out of,
rousted from
billowy somnolence,
while nuzzled,
nosed into
by heat-seeking missile
while asleep,
their protestations,
imprecations ignored, and
all demurrals having failed,
some women do what they feel
they must do
and give in.
The giant enters.
Once goaded,
Compliant, docile bulls,
they remain silent
except for maybe
a snort or two
which may just be breathing.
The getting-over-with is
a mechanical street-
sweeping.
But not painless or clean.
A man may,
if so inclined,
praise her,
may tell her she is good or
that she has improved,
may think she likes hearing
this.
The act is anodyne to him.
Were there to be a phrase
it might be
sleep interrupt-us
which deserves a hashtag
or sub reddit
or may already have one.
A question:
if, having developed techniques
to shorten the act’s duration
should this be regarded
as small victory?
To which it must be asked:
are women ever safe?
When a woman decides
she will no longer
drop anchor
she needs to know
there will be rancor
confusion.
The man will harbor
a delusion that,
even with half a lifetime of:
shared bed
children
sundry seldom non-
corporeal connubial-ness,
will feel aggrieved
believing all
was scam, grift
at which point
evacuation
must be stealthy,
swift
and if at all possible,
aided by others.
Economic circumstance
notwithstanding
the safest place
might be Mother’s.
And there is a
conclusiveness
an at-one-with-ness
in the marrow gristle
bones,
being alive
to tell the story
with steady beat
of the heart.
