A girl’s body was a mystery to me.

All I knew of femaleness

was pink billowing bloomers

on the morning washline.

Huddled in a dark corner

of the Trylon and Perisphere

during the ‘39 World’s Fair,

we passed around fifty-two

naked lady playing cards.

With heads cocked to see

as much as we could see,

our nostrils flared

like stallions in heat.

The oldest among us


“ A girl’s thing is like a flower

with a hole in it somewhere.

When your Father pees in it,

there’s a slash of lightening;

it vibrates,

and a baby is made”


we listened

with rapt attention.

No! It can’t be.