I think sabbatical is good for Jonathan. He's quickly becoming my favorite blogger. What I mean is, I find something to comment on in nearly every post he's lately posted. I'm sorry, Jonathan, for telling you in St. Louis that you didn't look like Jonathan Mayhew. Anyway, inspired by JM's recent attempt at a pantoum, I'm posting my own attempt at the form below. It has previously appeared in Aaron Tieger's CARVE.
Some man rubbed you raw until you fawned—
A smoking gent with red-fox smile and 50’s hair.
A bush full of fiction and a hand of flitty birds.
We’re splayed this way and that—the floor, the chair.
A smoking gent with red-fox smile and 50’s hair:
He’s smiling, dancing, lifting, patting ends.
We’ve played and splayed on that: the swivel chair.
Do you remember where to put your hands?
He smiles, exhales, removes his wedding band.
I’m coming now. My math is fine. I’m spiffy.
Do you remember what to do with your hands?
My felt is up, your skirt’s tartaned hot and shivery.
I’m coming now, in waves. Damn! I feel spiffy.
What’s in your photo book? Old boyfriend? Prick.
I’ve felt you over, your skirt’s been floored. You’re shivering.
Come back to bed. I’ll show you my lipstick.
What’s in your Kama Sutra book? A naughty trick?
A used-up prick? Some nuts and bolts? A finger?
In bed, we’ll take turns putting on lipstick.
I’ll be a Western Man, you, a sleek Jazz Singer.
A used-up prick, some nuts and bolts, a finger,
you in my mouth, like flitty fish we spawn—
I’ll be a Western Man to your Jazz Singer.
And then I’ll rub you dear until you fawn.