Young French brides have watched
the walls of their country peel back
from the structure of their supposed lives.
In their husband's absences they have
learned to kiss fig leafs
deeply, they have
readied themselves to make love
elm trees, not for pleasure, but so they
can take hold of something stronger
then they have to become. With shaky
propped against the kitchen tables
they can only be effeminate in the night.
afterward, the world will say:
is no equal of the French housewife
in economy and efficiency.