There's a poem I wrote about a business woman.
I wrote this when diaphragms were still
popular before [LAUGHTER] the pill.
So you can see that everything in America
suffers from technological obsolescence-- machinery,
poetry, love, everything, you know?
"Poem."
The person who can do accounts receivable as fast
as steel machines and outtalk telephones
has wiped her business lipstick off, undone her girdle
and belts, and stepped down sighing
from the black quoins of her heels
to be the quiet smiler with changed eyes.
After long haired women have unwired their pencil pierced
buns, it's an event with pennants
when the Great Falls of emotions say that beauty
is in residence, grand in her hotel of flesh,
and Venus of the marriage manual, haloed by a diaphragm,
steps from the shell Mercenaria to her constitutional majesty
in the red world of love.