Artist's Bio: John Grey is an Australian born poet. Recently published in International Poetry Review, Sanskrit and the science fiction anthology, ?Futuredaze? with work upcoming in Clackamas Literary Review, New Orphic Review and Nerve Cowboy.
A Victoria's Secret catalog.
Do they know something I don't?
And there's this thick book of guns for sale.
What do I need to shoot
from a distance of three hundred yards?
Always the bills of course.
There is a price to pay for living
and it's expressed in
how hot did I need the house to be last month,
how many bulbs did I leave burning.
But what about CD's I can't buy in a store.
And who are the Four Aces anyway?
I love the sexual aids brochure.
It always arrives sealed in dark plastic.
I enjoy imagining how the kinkier half lives
before I toss dildo, whip and nipple clamp
into the trash.
Women in flimsy underwear don't come to my door.
Nor rednecks toting AK47's.
And when was the last time the Four Aces
sang under my window?
Or a harpy in studded leather and wrapped in chains?
Not even the gas company rep
struts up my front path with his hand out.
The world in its intrusion
is more subtle than that.
It trusts its home invasions to the printed word.
Oh I almost forgot,
there was a letter from you amidst
all this junk mail.
And you so beautiful...
now where did I put that Victoria's Secret Catalog.
But the two of us with such convoluted history.,.
now about those guns.
Maybe I'll just slip on something by the Four Aces
(if I have one of theirs)
and indulge myself in a little S & M
(also known as reading your letter for the second time through.)
Ultimately, I stick your missive with the bills.
Strange how everything comes due eventually.