At the Gelid Hotel
“It’s not that I find the time right, but we’re present.
There’s a me and a you.” he says, clean
from a cold swim.
She sighs arctic, but then undulates; but after all,
he did displace the others, a waddler prime,
breathy with a burbling gut.
They slip into the water beneath his clucks.
Once under, they glide, two chemical plants,
a floatage affair swollen with fat.
They ripple the bellies, bow-chicka-bow,
past water, cozy off sipping ice,
the rotund male belling out some glottal song,
and a lowing female, head and tail lifted,
telling up her name again and again.
Page(s) 31
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