God in Underwear

A Careerist in Wonderbra,
everywhere She looked hung
Her sparkling, floating fruits.
Coolly inclined, yet fleet in coltish
air—no union shop.
 
Her ruby throne floats aloft
the nascent void. Below,
a tribe of naked, scrappy, sweating
cherubs inscribes Her word,
remands to forge a fusty pair
of virgin, sapphire tablets.
 
No, not a day for thongs—
Day Five coming fast,
She wants to look Her best. She pokes
around a lingerie chest,
lifts a pale-yellow chiffon
pair of Carine Gilsón
knickers up to newly blinding
light, remarks the pair,
and runs a finger all around
the slinky satin hem.
 
Smooth, bare, left leg first,
then braced by solid throne,
slides the other apiece chiffon;
snaps the seamless top
around an immaculate, untrammeled
waist. Guess no covert
eyes around to glance; She’d squash
them verso down to tart,
to something resembling smoky quartz.
 
Beat was good now;
humming along, She dons a perfect
printed gingham frock,
flicks swarms of fishy things
about, sends fowls off
to chance a pallid, neutral air.
 
But, oh god, must She now
go on to Man, or may She punt?

 
 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

R. J. Keeler was born in St. Paul, Minnesota and lived in the jungles of South America until he was twelve. Honorman, U.S. Naval Submarine School. “SS” (Submarine Service) qualified. Vietnam Service Medal. Honorable Discharge. BS Mathematics NCSU, MS Computer Science UNC, MBA UCLA, Certificate in Poetry UW. Whiting Foundation Experimental Grant.

 
[ The photograph of the woman at the top of this page is in the public domain. ]

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