Let us go then*
Let us go then, you and I, to the brothel. Fine yellow women drink coffee there or put fake flowers in their hair. One whore licks my ear. She’s a downy peach. At my age I’m just a claw let out of my cage. I want to throw off my trousers, pin her to the pillow. She’s a bore, no more than an easy tool. Says I snore. Wants me to write for her. Perhaps. I create a restless poem for Ezra. In revision? She meant nothing to me at all. Nothing at all.
*Inspired by The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot