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zingmagazine10 autumn 1999

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Sociobiology After Hours

by Mark Bibbins

 

There, where the buildings end, the sun's least glow,

the color of Pernod

and water, the usual question: dawn

or dusk?

 

On the twentieth floor a red curtain

licks the air, an open

ending, exhibitionism of high

order.

 

Looks like we've been slurping the same porridge

as the global village

idiot. We like it fine. We pretend

to eat.

 

She was once heard to gripe, he wants to be

my speculum jockey,

but what I covet is a wrap-around

terrace.

 

Just drink whatever she has to offer.

Liquid muse, she's bigger

than all of us combined in plastic cup

or grail.

 

Here's to other people's damage, she says

and we raise our glasses:

To Halcyon Moms and Ritalin Kids,

amen.