Christopher Barnes

The Fetishist

In briefs,
rubber is the Morning Service
of her fishnet soul.

The First Woman
(London 8/12/1660)

O Desdemona, Desdemona, your gift of pleasing! 
 
Margaret Hughes takes her set piece 
swinging a crack-of-throat over a patented bosom.
 
She is Virago, 
first to command the pack, 
queen-sized in a little fleapit in Clare Market.
 
The spear-carriers are undroopingly amnesic 
unmindful that she is not a randy boy; 
she confuses the prototype 
of their effeminate pinings.
 
Each grasp in the sticky pier 
of the wings, 
the wily grin of her lips, 
jerk of lurid-flush eye, frivolity of tongue.
 
Each rump-up ebb onto the proscenium cot 
has them in a thrown-together fever, 
eager for the lads in lipstick high jinks 
after the knockout of the tragic muse.
 
A quick grope dispels the illusion.