He’d searched the web for
“bitch gets tamped”
but the search had come up empty.
—did you mean:
“bitch gets slammed”
“bitch gets smashed”
“Tampa bitches”
“bitch gets her tampon stuck”
...
Imagine, Ava, a kink so niche it’s not been catered for.
He’d watched these YouTube videos instead for hours
of concrete being pumped – an endless stream,
a flurry of slurry – the men in hardhats muddied
to their hips, tools in hand to rake and smooth
and tamp.
Makes sense, he fucked like he was trying
to flatten me.
Talked like it too.
Do you think those porn actors feel sciencey during shoots?
Sometimes they do wear lab coats in their films.
Those ones are pretty dull though.
I’d like to know what you watch.
What thrills you.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Do you know that poem, Ava? You really should.
I thought of it, the day I got your email, hadn’t crossed
my mind since we studied it in class.
Back then it didn’t strike me,
but when your email cut across my misty post-dream
thoughts, this poem sparked before my eyes –
my mind’s eyes,
as though Yeats were shouting at the
windows of my soul –
I clicked reply,
typed back to you without much thought –
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
I didn’t press send.
Perhaps I should have,
perhaps that’s all that’s needed here.
