Saturday, April 14, 2007

Naked Fifty-Eight-Year-Old Women

Steve Miller

He knows the second cousin of the stepson
    of the professor who wrote my physics text.
He knows the precise formula for the chemical
    in my popsicle that makes it taste like cherry
    instead of grape.
He knows the intricate mating habits
    of the little black bugs that make their home
    among the roots of my favorite spider plant.
He knows the favorite ice cream of the granddaughter
    of the aged woman who painted the flourescent numbers
    on my desk-top alarm clock.
He knows the name of the beagle that belongs to the girl
    who stomped on the grapes that went into the wine
    that I drank last night.
He knows many things, but he doesn't know that,
    sometimes, the mind, like most fifty-eight-year-old
    women, should not be exposed.