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Robinson

of

Toronto, ON, CA

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37

by

Robinson

When Betty shows up in the short dress,
the one that's not really a dress,
more like a non-baking kinda apron.
Regardless,
when Betty shows up in the short dress
and self-assuredly strides
up weakly crafted wooden stairs,
stairs stressed beneath the weight of relentless sexuality.
Anyway,
as she smoulders, threatening to ignite barracks
in surroundings scorched from distinction.
As she assumes the quarters with a vibrancy,
an air of fertility.
Fertility that rejects any notion
how there are better things to do than be.
I,
in turn,
think how there is no other place I would choose
in the entire world...
the entire fucking world,
the whole fucking thing.
The whole goddamn, fucking, shit-covered, infested pinata
than inside, inside the bed
watching her move.
Seems pretty far from where I am.
Fuck.