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Postmodern Village
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consume-her center
by Francine DuBois

I. Sex

You put me on a pedestal, but forgot to take me off.
So the whole time there was all this jostling
And we were both worried I'd get broken,
Falling from so high.

I don't belong there, you know.
The gaze never suited me
Although I got used to it,
As zoo animals must.

And like those in cages,
All I can think about is running:
I close my eyes and think of endless fields,
England's moors, the heath, the pasturelands.

I think about disappearing into the fog,
Vanishing into the sea with pockets of stones,
Washing up somewhere else
Brand new and awake.

You can still play me
Though my mind is a continent away,
And, for a few seconds at least,
I just don't care anymore.


II. Death

I should have known it was over
When you were too lazy to do the one thing I asked you to do --
The one display of manhood I requested --
Disposing of the dead bird in the front yard.

As I stalked the blue jay and picked it up,
Hands wrapped in four layers of plastic grocery sacks,
I saw the maggots crawling in the eye sockets --
A vision I'll never forget and I may never forgive.

And as the trash can lid rattled shut,
Like that door slamming in Torvald's face,
I remembered how you helped your best friend
Move the decaying possum from under his porch.

But I'm on my own.
I'm on my own.

Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version
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