Last night I pulled the late blue carcass marked Nina Simone
from the backyard stereo. There were tracks and gin.
Three little children danced and licked the sugar from my hand
do you have a bowl some round object to put them in?
The whole ordeal a bird above town. Their words naughty.
Have been sung. There are affairs and matters women care not to speak of.
Consider my right breast or left nostril smaller and where
have my golden eyes gone, when did they leave me?