Girlie Magazines

Modest and neat, the timid sadists stand
In dreams of boot and garter belt and thigh.
The magazines fall open to the hand.
The abstract female flesh assaults the eye.
Tranced and still, we hang above the page
In a reverie of hope, of power and lust,
Well-dressed and shaken with a fragile rage.
Bringing the brutal body down to dust
In a side-street store, at noon of a working day.
Children in business suits recall their wounds and grieve.
Somebody will spank Mommy! we all but say
In a treble voice. Then terrified, we leave,
Dazed by daylight voices, shoving, being shoved;
Dreaming we are loving, and are loved.