NYMPH: STAGE I

by Christopher Munde

 

 

I bought
This dress, thinking
Finally I’m sure, if not
Of who, at least of what
I am.  I sashayed (sort of) around
The boardwalk in it, beside VA beach,
And I’m sure you’ve
Never seen so many navy boys,
Waves of them, blooming
Out of the silk-white suits, nearly
Blotting out the waves—
                                           Now what
Am I supposed to do with this?! 
About this thing? 
I’ll have to start by tossing out
My old wardrobe, just
To make it through the trip,
This dress, gone
Obsolete, and which
Restroom now?
I need to know.  I need
To go!—
              Just yesterday,
I took two boys back
To the room while the gals were out,
And I was so thrilled afterwards
That I bought two tests that day
And kept them in my purse
Like charms,
Even as the newer thirst crept up—
                                                             Today
I hid it by letting them in
From behind; it’s part of a system
I was forced to improvise:  I took on
A girl with the new part, face
To face, and boys, later on, in the back
So neither would see what I am, whatever
I am.  I’ll strategize further as per
Future developments.  But now, here,
The boys too have been altered, have begun
To sneak their old wardrobes from their suites
In garbage bags, to sneak boys in
The new orifices, and there’s the same crying
At first,
Then the need—
                            Then on
Go the white silk suits, and on
Go the hunter faces all,
And off we file across the sand, slip-
Knotting about any girl, this
Any girl with the eager red face,
While up in my room, useless, lay
My purse, in the purse the blister packs
And in those, something strange
Wrenching through the cocoon, coming
To—
                     You know, it wasn’t that
I wanted to hurt anyone, we think,
Climbing the stairs to her room, taking
Turns at servicing need, offering
More than is asked—
                                     But aggression?
It is, I think, when done
To people, by people only, some
Profound act of sympathy.

 

 

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