POEMS OF THE ROUGH TIMES: Waking

You broke the spell,
my figment prince.
The fantasies are in fragments.
How could illusions survive
your bursting out your door,
young with panic,
lobbing stones at California:
"Don't come any closer!"

I get the picture.

Stirring within the glass coffin,
I heard you say
you would not have slept with me.
Don't flatter yourself:
who said I wanted you to?
I wanted you to take me sledding
with your children,
let me sit with you and talk,
sipping hot chocolate.
I wanted to read poetry aloud with you
and fall asleep together
watching old movies.
Who said I wanted you
to sleep with me?

I feel cheated.
You slept with other women.
Why not me?

I am bad
because I want my Daddy
in the only way he taught me
I could have him.
I am bad
because I want you--
savagely,
newborn
at the breast--

I will go down to the bus stop
on Anaheim Street
and the first man
who propositions me,
I'm going to take him up on it.

I am not altogether
repulsive
you know.