A Poem

Bitches
By Grunion Frost

When I see hot bitches bend to left and right,
Across the lines of taller, uglier girls,
I like to think some boy's been doing it to them.
But doing it to them doesn't bend them down to stay
As text-books do. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with books a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They clique upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stares watch the wind lift their hemlines.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed fuzzy sweaters
Plopping and tumbling on the snowy bench--
Such heaps of frilly warmth abandoned
You'd think a passing Gap truck lost its merch.
They are dragged from class to class by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bored
So bad for so long, they never write themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the mall
Years afterwards, trailing their jackets on the ground
Like birches bent over by ice from an ice-storm, their limbs
Before them on the ground, leaves darkening in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the text-books
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to "fetch the cows"--
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only porn was porn he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could jerk alone.
One by one he subdued his school's 'B's
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not propositioning too soon
And so not driving the girl away
Clear to her home. He always kept his poise
With the hot bitches, escalating carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he swung forward, lips first, with a swish,
Groping his way down through the clothes to the mound.
So was I once myself a doer of bitches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a loveless bang
Where your face burns and tickles with MDMA
Racing across it, and one eye is weeping (if you get my meaning)
From a "twig's" having jacked it off across the room.
I'd like to get away from maleness awhile
And then come back to it after being a hot bitch.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
To return me an ugly girl. Hot bitches are right for love:
I don't know who it's like to go better with.
I'd like to go by climbing a bitch
And climb dark limbs up an ebony trunk
Toward heaven, till the girl could bear no more,
But doffed her top and got me off again.
That would be good both going and coming and coming and coming.
One could do worse than be a doer of bitches.