Halsted M. Bernard

pink legs hang over plas­tic chair.
she sits, shaven, smelly
of per­fumed prod­ucts prais­ing promis­ing
youth
fer­til­ity (or lack thereof)
and sex appeal. but
what hap­pened to how pretty her dusty cheeks shone
in sun­light, skinned skin­ni­ness
and elbows in awe of air.
I like you bet­ter dirty,
flaw­less and rolled in grav­elly soil
dark-rimmed fin­ger­nails
and pos­si­bly a tear
from a recent discovery’s
noth­ing­ness.
hair tan­gled, not blown-dry and gelled.
limbs askew, not neatly folded and buffed.
clean­li­ness, to me, of you,
is your per­fect shim­mer­ing sweat above
chapped lips that silent smile.

© 1997 by Hal­sted M. Bernard

pub­lished in Galá­pa­gos (Octo­ber 1997)