I’m tired of my cunt.
The way she cries for a man (or a wank)
at the most inconvenient times
like when I’m cooking
or watching something interesting on TV
or on Saturday afternoon
when the kids are playing hide and seek
all through the house,
popping up here and there
and I say to her, can’t you shut up?
Can’t you learn to wait?
But she says, I’m a thing of the moment.
You get too tired, if I wait.
Or you get distracted with text and music
and forget about me.
It’s too bad, I say.
Some older women claim
that after menopause, she does shut up.
Dries up and shuts up.
And then they miss her voice,
her rough desire,
the confusing storm of it.
But some say they’re glad to be free of her.
You hear that, you Down There?