Thursday, May 20, 2010

Anna Drinking

by Russell Streur


“Fuck,” says Anna Drinking,
“Is my favorite word.
It’s so versatile.
I can kill with it
Or spread my legs with it.
I just love the way it sounds:
Fuck. Like that.”

First curling her lower lip
Beneath her upper
Frontal incisors
Air flowing over tongue
With fricative articulation
And voiceless phonation
Central oral consonant

In Greek the sound of nature
In Polish blood
The unrounded vowel
In Turkish pure
In Russian sun
The color red
In Arabic to be

Then plosive stop
Dorsum closing against velum
Breath on soft palate
Pushing out of lung
Ending somewhere deep
From the back of her throat
And the risk of her mouth.


Anna Drinking tells Joseph’s son
I’ve got a magic vagina
Men would die for this
I don’t open up to just anybody.
So Joseph’s son says
What’s in it for me?

And Anna Drinking says
Janis Joplin singing all her greatest hits
Rivers you can walk on water
Land of milk and honey.
Sure enough.

But not much later Joseph’s son wins the bet he plays against himself—
There’s a lot of trouble in there too.

Russell Streur
was hit on the head by an insistent muse from Crete in 2004 and hasn't been right since. He is proudest this week of getting through it without a cigaret, but he is tempted for sure right now. Luckily, there's vodka in the freezer.

No comments:

Post a Comment