“This Laun-dry Basket my Prison”
Well, they are gone, and here must I remain,
This laun-dry basket my prison! I have lost
Countless men (and all respectability) such as would have been
Most sweet to my remembrance when age had
Dimm’d mine eyes to heteronormative gambits most venal! They,
Meanwhile, Penises whom I never more shall meet again,
(To their utter delight, and in answer to their prayers, I dare say),
Wander in gladness, and wind down, perchance,
To that roaring dell, a fresh vaginal space!
Another’s womanhood (skanks!), o’erwooded, narrow, deep,
And only freckled by the mid-day sun;
They, with their slim and hateful wood, poking like
Purple-headed dragon necks from between ashen rocks—wingless
Things, unsunn’d and damp, whose few poor willowy spines
Ne’er tremble in the gale, yet tremble still,
Fann’d by the feral smell of NOT ME! and there my friends
Behold the dark green file of long lank weeds,
That all at once (a most fantastic sight !)
Still nod and drip beneath the happy coupled edges
Of anyone—and I do mean anyone —other than I.