The Innisfree Poetry Journal

by Richard Peabody


You've wanted her
ever since  the days
of  Classic Comics.

Any woman
who could tame
rage incarnate.

Well, let's just say
she was worth dreaming about.

You imagine her cropped
like the covers on those Penguin editions
of Edna O'Brien’s stories
from the 60s.

Sleeping with an enemy
who called her "wife."

She hovers above his neck
blowing on his skin first
to warm it before
brushing him with kisses.

This widow.
This battle trophy.

The music her lips make
as they slide down his arm,
inside the elbow,
the wrist.

the rutting ram
with tenderness.

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