Inspired by the photograph Nude Sharkfin Swimmers (1973) in Geist 88, in an article about Glenn Lewis (a.k.a. Flakey Rose Hip).

I would love to have a man’s ass, which isless bottom than top, a firm bulb on sprung stems,like garlic, but only a couple of cloves.Men have the best butts, I think, studyinga photo of nude men (in a literary magazine, ahem),as my soft bottom yields beneath me where I liein bed, anxious again, realizing that these daysI’m afraid of the moon. And once I was in lovewith the moon, knew it personally, it was mineand kept being mine, over and over, punctuatingthe sky whether I was drunk or reading a poemso brilliant I’d have to look up from the pageas out a window.I suppose I discovered at some murky pointthat everyone loved the moon, everyonewas embroiled in the same affair. Wisdomis frequently humiliating. But I’ve learned to translatehumiliation into maturity, which assures me nowthat everyone fears the moon! I reachfor my magazine again, adjust my glasses,which are cheap, Made in China, assembledon the unseen side of the world, probably worsefor my eyes than good, but does it matter?I imagine going blind and the picture sucks:no, I’d rather not go down that hole that will neverbe dug. Once an employer said, as I squintedover the contract, when you’re regularized you’ll get
great eyeglasses. That was years ago and I remainterm faculty. The term term sticks in my throat,no longer a glowing, ripening season but a chipof something stony. Terminal, termite, termagant.If my bottom weren’t so soft, maybe thingswould be different. I would have upwardness, lift,less gravitass.A sigh sounds through the house, small bellowswheezing at a fire. It seeps from one of my childrenasleep in his or her bed. Oh, wealth. My wide, ample storesof love kindle for my offspring, who fill my days withthe unknown labours of the single mother, and allthe joys of motherhood. I remove my bad glasses,extinguish the lamp, put my head to my softish pillowand bravely glance at the moon, that constant bulb–perhaps I could win back its hard love, after all.