Every morning with her
hard-pressed heels
Her echoed step
finds its way above our
sleeping heads
Clanging across the peach
plaster
Guided by a handrail
and a business suit
Panty-hose and
a garter belt, hidden
beneath layers of
bureaucracy

Teased mercilessly as a
child, too skinny,
"rakey child, a bean pole
you are. No one'll marry
you like that. Give him
something to hold on to!"

The thought of sex -- of
any other religious misgivings,
deviated her
from her books
Her men.

Now
at six a.m., like
yesterday, her frail weight
lends itself with sheer
will guiding the rest
Into an orchestral
frenzy of pounding.

Nail into another one's
head. Nail into another
one's head. Nail into
another one's head.