On the matter of climbing and support
Men had a way of leaving bits
of themselves behind when they left her.
There, behind the door stood a spine --
all that was left of one particular Man of War,
while another's heart beat
beneath her bed, its owner's jealous eyes
staring from an adjacent cupboard.
She tried to muffle the sound of lips
smacking in the parlor, still greedy
for kisses; the hiss of a summer's sea
oozing from a pair of ears, while her girlfriends
laughed at her trophies, thought she'd be better
off with an alimony check. Not for them
this collection of man parts anyone could see
weren't all that valuable even when attached
to their former owners, the kind of flotsam
you gather eagerly enough on vacation
but never bother to bring home.
Painting by Dieric Bouts