Little Girls

 

Little girls lean over their mothers in a fettle

of fine and secret-sharing love,

Little boys step up beside their mothers

sulky, slow, too careful of themselves.

 

Dominant, impotent, aborting the blood of dreams,

the Mexican-jumping-bean-fatherdust

leaps between two spots,

his stridulous mind to his spasming balls,

from mind to balls and back again,

leaping over and over

the deep and diminishing pool of his heart.

 

The mother, left unfastened in a cloud,

confuses her sex, her heart, her head.

 

Little girls grow up, can only love the fatherdust,

dreaming to revive the dead heart back to life;

Little boys grow up, make marriage with the mother,

she who engorged his capacity for choice.

Mothers and fathers are strangers in a sojourn,

faced out of different windows.

 

just a word-