Vast plain of dark jade, flaked and ground:
the undulating bay.
Whales quit this place.
Sounds made by seals
drowned out: clatter of flatware.
As insular as Manhattan,
these iron-jawed amazons who lunch.
How I love them, and hope
their sexy, sketchy boyfriends
don't tell on us.
Conscience as a burlesque girl,
her stage name something cruel,
like Charity, or worse. Curse
her lazy routine,
the misandrist, tit-grabbing scene.
Old men in the audience zip
their flies. Enough of her lies, her lip.
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