Now, that got your attention.  This is just a spliff I wrote this morning.

It’s nine a.m. on a Sunday morning,

A lord’s day in late summer,

And I am contemplating brassieres.

No. No. No mocking, now!

I’m not fiddling through the wife’s stuffed drawer,

Or gawking by the endless Wonderbra racks,

But, sitting over a dark coffee, noticing

Not even clearly, mind you, just a hint,

Blatant, but a hint, under a tank-top,

Of that suggestion of armour,

Shielding from my eyes, any eyes,

And me not even a breast man.

But I do love the look of the bra-less,

That freedom, the sly wink of nipples,

That easy movement with a shift of shoulder.

Women should not constrict their bodies;

The clumsiest make the most graceful man

Clunky. Awkward.  In danger of embarrassment.

I will grant you only this:

The bra is necessary as athletic support,

For those sexless games on playing field or track.

But they are a cheat, always a cheat,

A seductive cheat, for as I look, I ruminate,

As that old Chinaman said in the Tao,

The soft overcomes the hard,

The yielding the brittle, so

You do not  fool me, concealing it that way,

Nature meant it to be seen.

And all that textile, all that array of harness,

Scarcely veils what is truly meant to be displayed.


Published in: on August 26, 2012 at 5:39 pm  Leave a Comment  
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