THE TROLLOP MAIDEN

But my life is not portable now

said the trollop maiden

I need fixed light

to make my witless orchids

grow

into prizes

and the machine I use

to make my bread

is too bulky to move around

easily and besides

it needs

especially heavy current.

But the old maid who lives in your navel

is the trollop maiden's desire

and your orchids sing without smell

in the fixed light like sirens.

You can always run off

yourself

said the trollop maiden

but my life is not portable

yet she moved

into coquette with the rhythms

of a gypsy fiddle—

fired across my bow

with a mouthful of leaden pain

NOW

That's one piece I cannot leave behind

she whispered.