Poems Niederngasse Issue 84 - January 2008

Robert Bradshaw
Lydia Slims Down  
She lies on the bed, nude,
her limbs a grid of narrow pipes.
You're beautiful, I tell her.
She grins.  She is like
a fish on a plate after
the banquet's over.
Minimalist art.
Each word Lydia speaks is a stone
lifted from the pit
of her stomach.
I never criticize her weight.
How her pelvis is as small
as a woman's bicycle
saddle.  Or how I worry
for her when walking
the sidewalk in a high wind.
She looks brittle.
If I slipped my hand
around her windpipe
it would crumble
into a handful
of dust.

Robert Bradshaw:  bobbybradshw@yahoo.com